Erewhon, or, Over the range

9*

EREWHON

PRINTED BY BALL ANT YNE AND COMPANY
EDINBURGH AND LONDON

EREWHON

OR

OVER THE RANGE

Tov yap elvai doKOvvros dyaOov %apiv iravra irpdrTOvcrc Tavres.''

— Arist. Pol. -

" There is no action save upon a balance of considerations."

— (Paraphrase).

LONDON

TRUBNER & CO., 60 PATERNOSTER ROW

1872

[All rights reserved]

:•

PEEFAOE.

o

The Author wislies it to he understood that Erewhon
is pronounced as a word of three syllables, all short —
thus, E-re-whon.

_$

I

CONTENTS.

0 — —

. CHAP. PAGE

I. WASTE LANDS . . . ... ■ . • 1

II, DOWN IN THE WOOL-SHED . .... 9

III. UP THE BIVER ' . . . . 15

IV. THE SADDLE . . . . . . 22

V. THE RIVER AND THE RANGE . .5 . . 3-2

VI. INTO EREWHON . . ' .' .x . . . . 43

VII. J5TRST IMPRESSIONS . .... 53

VIII. IN PRISON . . . . ... 62

IX. TO THE METROPOLIS . . . 72

X. CURRENT OPINIONS ... . . .85

XI. AN EREWHONIAN TRIAL . . . . . 95

XII. MALCONTENTS . . . . . .102

XIII. MAHAINA . . .\ - . . .112

XIV. THE MUSICAL BANKS . . . . -.118

XV. AROWHENA . . . .. . . 131

XVI. TDGRUN AND THE YDGRUNITES . . . .141
XVII. BIRTH FORMULAE . . ... . .150

XVIII. THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN .... 157

.viii. >,' CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAGE

XIX. WHAT THEY MEAN BY IT . . . . ' 167

XX. THE COLLEGES OP UNREASON .... 175

XXI. THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES . . .190

xxii. the machines — continued . . . .198

xxiii. the machines — concluded .. • . . .. • . 209

xxiv. escape . ... > . v . , 224

XXV. CONCLUSION . . . - . 237

CHAPTEK I

WASTE LANDS.

TF the reader will excuse me, I will say nothing of
*■ my antecedents, nor of the circumstances which
led me to leave my native country; the narrative
would he tedious to him and painful to myself.
Suffice it, that when I left home it was with the in-
tention of going to some new colony, and either find-
ing, or even perhaps purchasing, waste crown land
suitable for cattle or sheep farming, by which means
I thought that I could better my fortunes more rapidly
than in England.

It will be seen that I did not succeed in my design,
and that however much I may have met with that was
new and strange, I have been unable to reap any
pecuniary advantage.

It is true, I imagine myself to have made a dis-
covery which, if I can be the first to profit by it, will
bring me a recompense beyond all money computation,
and secure me a position such as has not been attained
by more than some fifteen or sixteen persons, since the
creation of the universe. But to this end I must
possess myself of a considerable sum of money: neither
do I know how to get it, except by interesting the
public in my story, and inducing the charitable to
come forward and assist me. With this hope I now

2 ERE WHO N.

publish my adventures; "but I do so with great reluct-
ance, for I fear that my story will be doubted unless I
tell the whole of it ; and yet I dare not do so, lest
others with more means than mine should get the start
of me. I prefer the risk of being doubted to that of
being anticipated, and have therefore concealed my
destination on leaving England, as also the point
from which I began my more serious and difficult
journey.

My chief consolation lies in the fact that truth
bears its own impress, and that my story will carry
conviction by reason of the internal evidences for its
accuracy. I am sure, that no one who is himself
honest will doubt my being so.

I reached my destination in one of the last months
of 1868, but I dare not mention the season, lest the
reader should gather in which hemisphere I was.
The colony was one which had not been opened up even
to the most adventurous settlers for more than eight
or nine years, having been previously uninhabited,
save by a few tribes of savages, who frequented the
seaboard. The part known to Europeans consisted
of a coast line about eight hundred miles in length
(affording three or four good harbours), and a tract of
country extending inland for a space varying from
two to three hundred miles, until it reached the
offshoots of an exceedingly lofty range of mountains,
which could be seen from far out upon the plain, and
were covered with perpetual snow. The coast was
perfectly well-known both north and south of the
tract to which I have alluded, but in neither direction
was there a single harbour for five hundred miles,
and the mountains, which descended almost into the

WASTE LANDS.

3

sea, were covered with thick timber, so that none
would think of settling.

With this bay of land, however, the case was
different. The harbours were sufficient ; the country
was timbered, but not too heavily; it was admir-
ably suited for agriculture ; it also contained millions
on millions of acres of the most beautifully grassed
country in the world, and of the best suited for all
manner of sheep and cattle. The climate was tem-
perate, and very healthy ; there were no wild animals,
nor were the natives dangerous, being few in number,
and of an intelligent, tractable disposition.

It may be readily understood that when once
Europeans set foot upon this territory they were not
slow to take advantage of its capabilities. Sheep and
cattle were introduced, and bred with extreme rapidity;
men took up their 50,000 or 100,000 acres of country,
going inland one behind the other, till in a few years
there was not an acre between the sea and the front
ranges which was not taken up, and stations either
for sheep or cattle were spotted about at intervals of
some twenty or thirty miles over the whole country.
The front ranges stopped the tide of squatters for
some little time ; it was thought that there was too
much snow upon them for too many months in the
year, — that the sheep would get lost, the ground being
too difficult for shepherding, — that the expense of
getting wool down to the ship's side would eat up the
farmer's profits, — and that the grass was too rough
and sour for sheep to thrive upon; but one after
another determined to try the experiment, and it was
wonderful how successfully it turned out. Men pushed
farther and farther into the mountains, and found a

4

EREWHON.

very considerable tract inside the front range, be-
tween it and another which was loftier still, though
even this was not the highest, the great snowy one
which could be seen from out upon the plains. This
second range, however, seemed to mark the extreme
limits of pastoral country ; and it was here, at a small
and newly founded station, that I was received as a
cadet, and soon regularly employed. I was then just
twenty-two years old.

I was delighted with the country and the manner
of life. It was my daily business to go up to the
top of a certain high mountain, and down one of its
spurs on to the flat, in order to make sure that no
sheep had crossed their boundaries. I was to see the
sheep, not necessarily close at hand, nor to get them in
a single mob, but to see enough of them here and there
to feel easy that nothing had gone wrong ; this was
no difficult matter, for there were not above eight hun-
dred of them ; and, being all breeding ewes, they were
pretty quiet.

There were a good many sheep which I knew,
as two or three black ewes, and a black lamb or
two, and several others which' had some distinguish-
ing mark whereby I could tell them. I would try
and see all these, and if they were all there, and the
mob looked large enough, I might rest assured that
all was well. It is surprising how soon the eye be-
comes accustomed to missing twenty sheep out of two
or three hundred. I had a telescope and a dog, and
would take bread and meat and tobacco with me.
Starting with early dawn, it would be night before I
could complete my round ; for the mountain over
which I had to go was very high. In winter it was

WASTE LANDS.

S

covered with snow, and the sheep needed no watch-
ing from above. If I were to see sheep dung or
tracks going down on to the other side of the mountain
(where there was a valley with a stream — a mere cul
de sac) , I was to follow them, and look out for sheep;
but I never saw any, the sheep always descending on
to their own side, partly from habit, and partly be-
cause there was abundance of good sweet feed, which
had been burnt in the early spring, just before I 1
came, and was now deliciously green and rich, while
that on the other side had never been burnt, and was
rank and coarse.

It was a monotonous life, but it was very healthy ;
and one does not much mind anything when one is
well. The country was the grandest that can be ima-
gined. How often have I sat on the mountain side
and watched the waving downs, with the two white
specks of huts in the distance, and the little square
of garden behind them ; the paddock with a patch of
bright green oats above the huts, and the yards and
wool-sheds down on the flat below ; all seen as
through the wrong end of a telescope, so clear and
brilliant was the air, or as upon a colossal model or
map spread out beneath me. Beyond the downs was
a plain, going down to a river of great size, on the
farther side of which there were other high moun-
tains, with the winter's snow still not quite melted ;
up the river, which ran winding in many streams over
a bed some two miles broad, I looked upon the second
great chain, and could see a narrow gorge where the
river retired and was lost. I knew that there was a range
still farther back ; but except from one place near the
very top of my own mountain, no part of it was visi-

6

EREWHON.

ble : from this point, however, I saw, whenever there
were no clouds, a single snow-clad peak, many miles
away, and I should think about as high as any moun-
tain in the world. Never shall I forget the utter lone-
liness of the prospect — only the little far-away home-
stead giving sign of human handiwork; — the vast-
ness of mountain and plain, and river and sky ; the
marvellous atmospheric effects — sometimes black
mountains against a white sky, and then again, after
cold weather, white mountains against a black sky —
sometimes seen through breaks and swirls of cloud —
and sometimes, which was best of all, I went up my
mountain in a fog, and then got above the mist ;
going higher and higher, I would look down upon a
sea of whiteness, through which would be thrust innu-
merable mountain tops that looked like islands.

I am there now, as I write ; I fancy that I can see
the downs, the huts, the plain, and the river-bed — that
torrent pathway of desolation, with its distant roar
of waters. Oh, wonderful ! wonderful ! so lonely and
so solemn, with the sad grey clouds above, and no
sound save a lost lamb bleating upon the mountain
side, as though its little heart were breaking. Then
there comes some lean and withered old ewe, with
deep gruff voice and unlovely aspect, trotting back
from the seductive pasture; now she examines this
gully, and now that, and now she stands listening
with uplifted head, that she may hear the distant
wailing and obey it. Aha ! they see, and rush towards
each other. Alas ! they are both mistaken ; the ewe
is not the lamb's ewe, they are neither kin nor kind
to one another, and part in coldness. Each must cry
louder, and wander farther yet; may luck be with

WASTE LANDS.

7

them both, that they may find their own at night-
fall. But this is mere dreaming, and I must pro-
ceed.

I could not help speculating upon what might lie
farther up the river, and behind the second range. I
had no money, but if I could only find workable
country, I might stock it with borrowed capital, and
consider myself a made man. True, the range looked
so vast, that there seemed little chance of getting a
sufficient road through it or over it; but no one had
yet explored it, and it is wonderful how one finds that
one can make a path into all sorts of places (aod even
get a road for pack horses), which from a distance
appear inaccessible ; the river was so great, that it
must drain an inner tract — at least I thought so; and
though every one said that it would be madness to
attempt taking sheep further inland, I knew that, only
three years ago, the same cry had been raised against
the country which my master's flock was now over-
running. I could not keep these thoughts out of my
head, as I would rest myself upon the mountain side;
they haunted me as I went my daily rounds, and grew
upon me from hour to hour, till I resolved that, after
shearing, I would remain in doubt no longer, but
saddle my horse, take as much provision with me as I
could, and go and see for myself.

But over and above these thoughts came that of the
great range itself. What was beyond that ? Ah !
who could say ? There was no one in the whole world
who had the smallest idea, save those who were them-
selves on the other side of it — if, indeed, there was
any one at all. Could I hope to cross it ? This would
be the highest triumph that I could possibly wish for;

8

EREWHON.

but it was too much to think of yet. I would try the
nearer range, and see how far I could go. Even if
I did not find country, might I not find gold, or
diamonds, or copper, or silver ? I would sometimes
lie flat down to drink out of a stream, and could see
little yellow specks among the sand ; were these gold ?
People said no; but then people always said there
was no gold until it was found to be abundant : there
was plenty of slate and granite, which I had always
understood to accompany gold ; and even though it
was not found in paying quantities here, it might be
abundant in the main ranges. These thoughts filled
my head, and I could not banish them.

CHAPTER II.

DOWN IN THE WOOL-SHED.

A T last shearing came; and with the shearers there was
an old native, whom they had nicknamed Chow-
bok — though, I believe, his real name was Kahabuka.
He was a sort of chief of the natives, could speak a
little English, and was a great favourite with the
missionaries. He did not do any regular work with
the shearers, but pretended to help in the yards, his
real aim being to get the grog, which is always more
freely circulated at shearing-time : he did not get
much, for he was apt to be dangerous when drunk,
and very little would make him so : still he did get
it occasionally, and if one wanted to get anything out
of him, it was the best bribe to offer him. I deter-
mined that I would question him, and get as much
information from him as I could. I did so. As long
as I kept to questions about the nearer ranges, he was
easy to get on with — he had never been there ; but
there were traditions among his tribe, to the effect
that there was no sheep-country, nothing, in fact,
but stunted timber and a few river-bed flats. It was
very difficult to reach ; still there were passes : one
of them up our own river, though not directly along
the river-bed, the gorge of which was not practicable;
he had never seen any one who had been there : was

10

EREWHON.

there not enough on this side ? But when I came to
the main range, his manner changed at once. He
became uneasy, and began to prevaricate and shuffle.
In a very few minutes I could see that of this too
there existed traditions in the tribe; but no efforts
or coaxing could get a word out of him about them.
At last I hinted about grog, and presently he feigned
consent : I gave it him ; but as soon as he had drunk
it he began shamming intoxication, and then went to
sleep, or pretended to do so, letting me kick him
pretty hard, and never budging. .

I was angry, for I had to go without my own grog,
and had got nothing out of him; so the next day I
determined that he should tell me before I gave him
any, or get none at all.

Accordingly, when night came, and the shearers had
knocked off work and had their supper, I got my
share of rum in a tin pannikin, and made a sign to
Chowbok to follow me to the wool-shed, which he
willingly did, slipping out after me, and no one taking
any notice of either of us. When we got down to the
wool-shed we lit a tallow candle, and having stuck it
in an old bottle, we sat down upon the wool bales and
began to smoke. A wool-shed is a roomy place,
built somewhat on the same plan as a cathedral, with
aisles on either side, full of pens for the sheep; a great
nave, at the upper end of which the shearers work ;
and a further space for wool sorters and packers. -It
always refreshed me with a semblance of antiquity
(precious in a new country), though I very well knew
that the oldest wool-shed in the settlement was not
more than seven years old, while this was only two.
Chowbok pretended that he expected his grog at once,

DOWN IN THE WOOL-SHED. II

though, we both of us knew very well what the other
was after, and that we were each playing against the
other, the one for grog, the other for information.

We had a hard fight : for more than two hours he
had tried to put me off with lies, hut had carried no
conviction; during the whole time we had been morally
wrestling with one another, and had neither of us
apparently gained the least advantage; at length,
however, I had become sure that he would give in
ultimately, and that with a little further patience I
should get his story out of him. As upon a cold day
in winter, when one has churned (as I had often had
to do), and churned in vain, and the butter makes
no sign of coming, at last one tells by the sound
that the cream has gone to sleep, and then upon a
sudden the butter comes, so I had churned at Chow-
bok until I perceived that he had arrived, as it were,
at the sleepy stage, and that, with a continuance of
steady, unexcited pressure, the day was mine.- On a
sudden, without a word of warning, he rolled two bales
of wool (his strength was very great) into the middle
of the floor, and on the. top of these he placed another
crosswise ; he snatched up an empty wool pack, threw
it like a mantle over his shoulders, jumped upon the
uppermost bale, and sat upon it. In a moment his
whole form was changed. His high shoulders dropped;
he set his feet close together, heel to heel, and toe to
toe ; he laid his arms and hands close alongside of his
body, the palms following his thighs; he held his
head high but quite straight, and his eyes stared right
in front of him ; but he frowned horribly, and assumed
an expression of face that was positively fiendish. At
the best of times Chowbok was very ugly, but he now

12

EREWHON.

exceeded all conceivable limits of the hideous. His
mouth extended almost from ear to ear, his teeth
grinning horribly ; his eyes glared, though they re-
mained quite fixed, and his forehead was contracted
with a most malevolent scowl.

I am afraid that my description will have conveyed
only the ridiculous side of his appearance; but the
ridiculous and the sublime are near, and the grotesque
flendishness of Chowbok's face approached this last, if
it did not reach it. I tried to be amused, but I felt a
sort of creeping at the roots of my hair and over my
whole body, as I looked and wondered what he could
be possibly intending to signify. He continued thus
for about a minute, sitting bolt upright, as stiff as a
stone, and making this fearful face. Then there came
from his lips a low moaning like the wind rising and
falling, by infinitely small gradations, till it became
almost a shriek, from which it descended and died away;
after that, he jumped down from the bale, and held up
the extended fingers of both his hands, as one who
should say " ten," though I did not then understand
him.

For myself I was open-mouthed with astonishment.
Chowbok rolled the bales rapidly into their place, and
stood before me shuddering as in great fear; horror was
written upon his face — this time quite involuntarily —
as though the natural panic of one who had committed
an awful crime against unknown and superhuman
agencies. He nodded his head and gibbered, and
pointed repeatedly to the mountains. He would not
touch the grog, but, after a few seconds, he made a
run through the wool-shed door into the moonlight;
nor did he reappear till next day at dinner-time, when

DOWN IN THE WOOL-SHED. 13

he turned up, looking very sheepisli and abject in his
- civility towards myself.

Of his meaning I had no conception. How could
I ? All I could feel sure of was, that he had a mean-
ing which was true and awful to himself. It was
enough for me that I believed him to have given me
the best he had, and all he had. This kindled my
imagination more than if he had told me intelligible
stories by the hour together. I knew not what the
great snowy ranges might conceal, but I could no
longer doubt that it would be something well worth
discovering.

I kept aloof from Chowbok for the next few days,
and showed no desire to question him further ; when
I spoke to him I called him Kahabuka, which grati-
fied him greatly : he seemed to have become afraid of
me, and acted as one who was in my power. Having,
therefore, made up my mind, past all turning, that I
would begin exploring as soon as shearing was over,
I thought it would be a good thing to take Chowbok
with me ; so I told him that I meant going to the
nearer ranges for a few days prospecting, and that he
was to come too. I made him promises of nightly
grog, and held out the chances of finding gold. I said
nothing about the main range, for I knew that it
would frighten him. I would get him as far up our
own river as I could, and trace it if possible to its
source. I would then either go on by myself, if I
felt my courage equal to the attempt, or return with
Chowbok. So, as soon as ever shearing was over and
the wool sent off, I asked leave of absence, and ob-
tained it. Also, I bought an old pack-horse and pack-
saddle, so that I might take plenty of provisions, and

14

ERE WHO N.

blankets, and a small tent. I was to ride and find
fords over the river ; Chowbok was to follow and
lead the pack-horse, which would also carry him over
the fords. My master let me have tea and sugar,
ship's biscuits, tobacco, and salt mutton, with two or
three bottles of good brandy; for as the wool was
now sent down, abundance of provisions would come
up with the empty drays.

With the very beginning of autumn all was ready,
and we started upon our journey.

CHAPTER IIL

UP THE EIVEK.

HHHE first day we had an easy time, following up the
great flats by the river side, which had already
been twice burned, so that there was no dense under-
growth to check us, though the ground was often rough,
and we had to go a good deal upon the river-bed.
Towards nightfall we had made a matter of some
five -and- twenty miles, and camped at the point where
the river entered upon the gorge.

The weather was delightfully warm, considering
that it was verging towards autumn, and that the
valley in which we were encamped must have been at
least two thousand feet above the level of the sea.
The river-bed was here about a mile and a half broad,
and entirely covered with shingle, over which the
river ran in many winding channels, looking, when
seen from above, like a tangled skein of ribbon, and
glistening in the sun. We knew that it was liable to
very sudden and heavy freshets; but even had we not
known it, we could have seen it by the snags of trees,
which must have been carried long distances, and by
the mass of vegetable and mineral debris which was
banked against their lower side, showing that at times
the whole river-bed must be covered with a roaring*
torrent, many feet in depth, and of ungovernable fury.

1 6 , EREWHON.

At present the river was low, there being but five or
six streams, too deep and rapid for even a strong man
to ford on foot, but to be crossed safely on horseback.
On either side of it there were still a few acres of flat,
which grew wider and wider down the river, till they
became the large plains, on which we looked from my
master's hut. Behind us rose the lowest spurs of the
second range, leading abruptly to the range itself;
and at a distance of half a mile began the gorge,
where the river narrowed and became boisterous and
terrible. The beauty of the scene cannot be conveyed
in language. The one side of the valley was blue
with the evening shadow, through which loomed forest
and precipice, and hill side and mountain top ; and
the other was still brilliant with the sunset gold. The
wide and wasteful river, with its ceaseless rushing —
the beautiful water birds too, which abounded upon
the islets, and were so tame that we could come
close up to them — the ineffable purity of the air — the
solemn peacefulness of the untrodden region— could
there be a more delightful and exhilarating com-
bination ?

We set about making our camp, close to some large
bush which came down from the mountains on to the
flat, and tethered out our horses upon ground as free
as we could find it from anything round which they
might wind the rope, and get themselves tied up.
We dared not let them run loose, lest they might
stray down the river, home again. We then gathered
wood and lit the fire. We filled a tin pannikin with
water, and set it against the hot ashes to boil. When
the water boiled we threw in two or three large pinches
of tea, and let them brew.

UP THE RIVER.

17

We had caught half a dozen young ducks in the
course of the day — an easy matter ; for the old birds
made such a fuss in attempting to decoy us away from
them, pretending to be badly hurt, as they say the
plover does, that we could always find them by going
about in the opposite direction to the old bird, till we
heard the young ones crying : then we ran them down,
for they could not fly, though they were nearly full
grown. Chowbok plucked them a little, and singed
them a good deal. Then we cut them up and boiled
them in another pannikin, and this completed our
preparations.

When we had done supper it was quite dark. The
silence and freshness of the night, the occasional sharp
cry of the wood-hen, the ruddy glow of the fire, the
subdued rushing of the river, the sombre forest, and
the immediate foreground of our saddles, packs, and
blankets, made a picture worthy of a Salvator Rosa, or
Nicolas Poussin. I call it to mind and delight in it
now, but I did not notice it at the time. • We next to
never know when we are well off : but this cuts two
ways, — for if we did, we should perhaps know better
when we are ill off also ; and I have sometimes thought
that there are as many ignorant of the one as of the
other. He who wrote, a 0 fortunatos nimium sua si
bona norint agricolce" might have written quite as
truly, u 0 infortunatos nimium sua si mala norint;''''
and there are few of us who are not protected from
the keenest pain by our inability to see what it is that
we have done, what we are suffering, and what we
truly are. This, however, is a digression.

We found as soft a piece of ground as we could- — •
though it was all stony — and having collected grass and

i8

ERE WHO N.

so disposed of ourselves that we had a little hollow for
our hip-bones, we strapped our blankets around us, and
went to sleep. Waking in the night I saw the stars
overhead, and the moonlight bright upon the mountains.
The river was ever rushing ; I heard one of our horses
neigh to its companion, and was assured that they
were still at hand ; I had no care of mind or body,
save that I had doubtless many difficulties to over-
come. There came upon me a delicious sense of peace,
a fulness of contentment which I do not believe can
be felt by any but those who have spent days consecu-
tively on horseback, or at any rate in the open air.

Next morning we found our last night's tea-leaves
frozen at the bottom of the pannikins, though it was
still only the beginning of autumn ; we breakfasted
as we had supped, and were on our way by six o'clock.
In half an hour we had entered the gorge, and turning
round a corner, we bade farewell to the last sight of
my master's country. ,

The gorge was narrow and precipitous : the river was
now only a few yards wide, and roared and thundered
against rocks of many tons in weight : the sound was
deafening, for there was a great volume of water. We
were two hours in making less than a mile, and that with
great danger; sometimes in the river, and sometimes on
the rock. There was that damp black smell of rocks
covered with slimy vegetation, as near some huge water-
fall where spray is ever rising. The air was clammy and
cold. I cannot conceive how our horses managed to
keep their footing, especially the one with the pack, and
I dreaded the having to return almost as much as going
forward. I suppose this lasted three miles, but it was
well midday when the gorge got a little wider, and a

UP THE RIVER.

19

small stream came into it from a tributary valley.
Further progress up the main river was impossible,
for the cliffs descended like walls ; so we went up the
side stream, Chowbok seeming to think that here
must be the pass of which reports existed among his
people. I have so much to tell that I must condense
this part of my story. Suffice it that after infinite
trouble owing to the rocks and tangled vegetation, we
got ourselves and our horses upon the saddle from
which this small stream descended; by that time
clouds had descended upon us, and it was raining
heavily. Moreover, it was six o'clock, and we were tired
out, having made perhaps six miles in twelve hours.

On the saddle there was some coarse grass which
was in full seed, and therefore very nourishing for the
horses ; also abundance of annise and sowthistle, of
which they are extravagantly fond, so we turned them
loose, and prepared to camp. Everything was soak-
ing wet, and we were half-perished with cold • indeed,
we were very uncomfortable. There was brushwood
about, but we could get no fire till we had shaved off
the wet outside of some dead branches, and filled
our pockets with the dry inside chips. Having done
this we managed to start a fire, nor did we allow it
to go out when we. had once started it ; we pitched
the tent, and by nine o'clock were comparatively warm
and dry. Next morning it was fine ; we broke camp,
and after advancing a short distance, we found that,
by descending over ground less difficult than yester-
day's, we should come again upon the river-bed, which
had opened out above the gorge ; but it was plain, at
a glance, that there was no available sheep country,
nothing but a few flats covered with scrub on either

20

EREWHON.

side the river, and mountains which were perfectly
worthless. But we could see the main range. There
was no mistake about this. The glaciers were tum-
bling down the mountain sides like cataracts, and
seemed actually to descend upon the river-bed ; there
could be no serious difficulty in reaching them by
following up the river, which was wide and open ; but
it seemed rather an objectless thing to do, for the
main range looked hopeless, and my curiosity about
the nature of the country above the gorge was now
quite satisfied : there was no money in it whatever,
unless there should be minerals, of which I saw no
more signs than lower down.

However, I resolved that I would follow the river
up, and not return until I was compelled to do so. I
would go up every branch as far as I could, and wash
well for gold. Chowbok liked seeing me do this, but
it never came to anything, for we did not even find the
colour. His dislike of the main range appeared to
have worn off, and he made no objections to approach-
ing it. I thought he believed that there was no
danger of my trying to cross it, and he was not
afraid of anything on this side ; besides, we might
find gold. But the fact was, that he had made up his
mind what to do if he saw me getting too near it.

We passed three weeks in exploring, and never did I
find time go more quickly. The weather was fine,
though the nights got very cold. We followed every
stream but one, and always found that it led us to a
glacier which was plainly impassable ; at any rate
without a larger party and ropes. One stream re-
mained, which I should have followed up already,
had not Chowbok said that he had risen early one

UP THE RIVER.

21

morning, while I was yet asleep, and gone up for three
or four miles, and seen that it was quite impossible to
go farther. I had long ago discovered that he was a
great liar, so I was bent on going up myself: in brief,
I did so : it was not impossible, it was quite easy
travelling ; and, after five or six miles, I saw a saddle
at the end of it, which, though covered deep in snow,
was not glaciered, and which did verily appear to me
to be part of the main range itself. JSTo words of
.mine can convey any notion of my feelings. My
Tblood felt all on fire with hope and elation ; but, on
looking round for Chowbok, who was behind me, I
saw, to my surprise and anger, that he had turned
back, and was going down the valley as hard as he
could. He had left me.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SADDLE.

T COOEYED to him, but he would not hear. I
ran after him, but he had got too good a start.
Then I sat down on a stone and thought the matter care-
fully over. It was plain that Chowbok had designedly
attempted to keep me from going up this valley, yet
he had shown no unwillingness to follow me any-
where else. What could this mean, unless that I
was now upon the route by which alone the mysteries
of the great ranges could be revealed? What then
should I do ? go back at the very moment when it
had become plain that I was on the right scent?
Hardly : yet to proceed alone would be a most difficult
and dangerous undertaking. It would be bad enough
to go back to my master's run, and pass through the
rocky gorges, with no chance of help from another
should I get into any difficulty ; but to advance for
any considerable distance without a companion would
be next door to madness. Accidents which are slight
when there is another at hand (as the spraining of an
ankle, or the falling into some place whence escape
would be easy by means of an outstretched hand and
a bit of rope), may be fatal to one who is alone. The
more I pondered the less I liked it ; and yet, the less
could I make up my mind to return when I looked

THE SADDLE.

23

at the saddle at the head of the valley, and noted the
comparative ease with which its smooth sweep of snow
might be surmounted : I seemed to see my way almost
* from my present position to the very top. After
much thought, I resolved that I would go forward
until I should come to some place which was really
dangerous ; hut that I would then return. I should
thus, I hoped, at any rate reach the top of the saddle,
and satisfy myself as to what might be on the other
side.

I had no time to lose, for it was now between ten
and eleven in the morning, and the days had begun
to shorten. Fortunately I was well equipped, for on
leaving the camp and the horses at the lower end of
the valley, I had provided myself (according to my
custom) with everything that I was likely to want for
four or five days. Chowbok had carried half, but had
dropped his whole swag, — I suppose, at the moment
of his taking flight, — for I came upon it when I ran
after him. I had, therefore, his provisions as well as
my own. Accordingly, I took as many biscuits as I
thought I could carry; and also some tobacco, tea,
and a few matches. I rolled them neatly inside my
blankets : outside these I rolled Chowbok's blankets,
and strapped them very tightly, making the whole into
along roll of some seven feet in length, and ten inches
in diameter. Then I tied the two ends together, and put
the whole round my neck, and over one shoulder. This
is the easiest way of carrying a heavy swag, for one
can rest one's self by shifting the burden from one
shoulder to the other. I strapped my pannikin and a
small axe about my waist ; and, having thus prepared,
I began to ascend the valley, angry at having been

24

EREWHON.

misled by Chowbok, but fully resolved that I would
not return until I was compelled to do so.

I crossed and recrossed the stream several times
without difficulty, for there were many good fords.
At one o'clock I was at the foot of the saddle; for four
hours I mounted, the last two on the snow, where the
going was easier ; by five I was within ten minutes of
the top, in a state of excitement greater, I think,
than I had ever known before. Ten minutes more,
and the cold air from the other side came rushing
upon me.

A glance. I was not on the main range.

Another glance. There was an awful river, muddy
and horribly angry, roaring over an immense river-
bed, thousands of feet below me.

It went round to the westward, and I could see no
farther up the valley, save that there were enormous
glaciers which must extend round its source, and from
which it must spring.

Another glance, and then I remained motionless.

There was an easy pass in the mountains directly
opposite to me, through which I caught a glimpse of
an immeasurable extent of blue and distant plains.

Easy ? Yes, perfectly easy ; grassed nearly to the
summit, which was, as it were, an open path between two.
glaciers, from which an inconsiderable stream came
tumbling down over rough but very possible hill-sides,
till it got down to the level of the great river, and
formed a fiat where there was grass and good timber.

Almost before I could believe my eyes, a cloud had
come up from the valley on the other side, and the
plains were hidden. What wonderful luck was mine !
Had I arrived five minutes later, the cloud would have

THE SADDLE.

25

been over the pass, and I should never have known
of its existence. Now that the cloud was there, I
began to doubt my memory, and to be uncertain
whether it had been more than a blue line of distant
vapour that had filled up the opening. I could only
be certain of this much, namely, that the river in the
valley below must be the one next to the northward of
that which flowed past my master's station ; of this
there could be no doubt. Could I, however, imagine
that my luck should have led me up a wrong river in
search of a pass, and yet brought me to the spot
where I should detect the one weak place in the forti-
fications of a more northern basin ? This was too
improbable. But even as I doubted there came a rent
in the cloud opposite, and a second time I saw blue
lines of heaving downs, growing gradually fainter, and
retiring into a far space of plain. It was substantial ;
there had been no mistake soever. I had hardly
made myself completely sure of this ere the rent in
the clouds joined up again, and I could see nothing
more.

What, then, should I do? The night would be
upon me shortly, and I was already chilled with
standing, still after the exertion of climbing. To stay
where I was would be impossible ; I must either go
backwards or forwards. I found a rock which gave
me shelter from the evening wind, and took a good
pull at the brandy flask, which immediately warmed
and encouraged me.

I asked myself, Could I descend upon the river-bed
beneath me ? It was impossible to say what precipices
might prevent my doing so. If I were on the river-
bed, dare I cross the river ? I am an excellent swim-

26

EREWHON.

mer; yet, once in that frightful rush of waters, I
should be hurled whithersoever it willed, absolutely
powerless. Moreover, there was my swag ; I should
perish of cold and hunger if I left it, but I should
certainly be drowned if I attempted to carry it across
the river. These were serious considerations, but the
hope of finding an immense tract of available sheep
country (which I was determined that I would mono-
polise as far as I possibly could) sufficed to outweigh
them; and, in a few minutes, I felt resolved that, having
made so important a discovery as a pass into a country
which was probably as valuable as that on our own
side of the ranges, I would follow it up as far as I
possibly could, even though I should pay the penalty
of failure with life itself. The more I thought, the
more I was settled in my mind that I would either
win for myself the chance of fame and fortune, by
entering upon this unknown world, or consent to give
up life in the attempt. In fact, I felt that life would
be no longer valuable if I were to have seen so great
a prize, and refused to grasp at the possible profits
therefrom.

I had still an hour of good daylight during which I
might begin my descent on to some possible camping
ground, but there was not a moment to be lost. At
first I got along rapidly, for I was on the snow, and
sank into it enough to save me from falling, though I
went forward straight down the mountain side, as
fast as I could ; but there was less snow on this side
than on the other, and I had soon done with it,
getting on to a coomb of dangerous and very stony
ground, where a slip might have given me a disastrous
fall. But I was careful with all my speed, and got

THE SADDLE.

27

safely to the bottom, where there were patches of coarse
grass, and an attempt here and there at brushwood :
what was below this I could not see. I advanced a
few hundred yards farther, and found that I was on
the brink of a frightful precipice, which no one in his
senses would attempt descending. I bethought me,
however, to try the creek which drained the coomb, and
see whether it might not have worn itself a smoother
way. In a few minutes I found myself at the upper
end of a chasm in the rocks, something like Twll
Dhu, only on a greatly larger scale; the creek had
found its way into it, and had worn a deep channel
through a material which appeared much softer than
that upon the other side of the mountain. I believe it
must have been a different geological formation,
though I regret to say that I cannot tell what it was,
except that it seemed to resemble that light friable
kind of porphyry of which St Michael's and other
churches are built at Coventry.

I looked at this rift in great doubt, then I went a
little way on either side of it, and found myself looking
over the edge of horrible precipices on to the river,
which roared some four or five thousand feet below
me. I dared not think of getting down at all, unless
I committed myself to the rift, of which I was hopeful,
when I reflected that the rock was soft, and that the
water might have worn its channel tolerably evenly
through the whole extent. The darkness was increas-
ing with every minute, but I should have twilight for
another half hour, so I went into 'the chasm (though
by no means without fear), and resolved to return
and camp, and try some other path next day, should
I come to any serious difficulty. In about five minutes

23

ERE WHO N.

I had completely lost my head ; the sides of the rift
became hundreds of feet in height, and overhung so
that I could not see the sky. It was full of rocks,
and I had many falls and bruises. I was wet through
from falling into the water, of which there was no
great volume, but it had such force that I could do
nothing against it ; once I had to leap down a not
inconsiderable waterfall into a deep pool below, and
my swag was so heavy that I was very nearly drowned.
I had indeed a hair's-breadth escape ; but, as luck
would have it, Providence was on my side. Shortly
afterwards I began to fancy that the rift was getting
wider, and that there was more brushwood. Presently
I found myself on an open grassy slope, and feeling
my way a little farther along the stream, I came upon
a flat place with wood, where I could camp comfort-
ably ; which was well, for it was now quite dark.

My first care was for my matches ; were they dry ?
The outside of my swag had got completely wet ; but,
on undoing the blankets, I found things warm and dry
within. How thankful I was ! I lit a fire, and was
grateful for its warmth and company. I made myself
some tea, and ate two of my biscuits : my brandy I
did not touch, for I had little left, and I might want
it when my courage failed me. All that I did, I did
almost mechanically, for I could not realise my situa-
tion to myself, being alone, and knowing that return
through the chasm which I had just descended would
be almost impossible ; and being utterly uncertain
about the future. It is a dreadful feeling that of
being cut off from all one's kind. I was still full of
hope, and built golden castles for myself as soon as I
was warmed with food and fire ; but I do not believe

THE SADDLE.

29

that any man could long retain his reason in such
solitude, unless he had the companionship of animals.
One begins doubting one's own identity.

I remember deriving comfort even from the sight
of my blankets, and the sound of my watch ticking,
— things which seemed to link me to other people ;
but the screaming of the wood-hens frightened me, as
also a chattering bird which I had never heard before,
and which seemed to laugh at me ; though I soon got
used to it, and before long could fancy that it was
many years since I had first' heard it.

I took off my clothes, and wrapped my inside blanket
about me, till my things were dry. The night was
very still, and I made a roaring fire ; so I soon got
warm, and at last could put my clothes on again.
Then I strapped my blanket round me, and went to
sleep as near the fire as I could.

I dreamed that there was an organ placed in my
master's wool-shed : the wool-shed faded away, and
the organ seemed to grow and grow amid a blaze of
brilliant light, till it became like a golden city upon
the side of a mountain, with rows upon rows of pipes
set in cliffs and precipices, one above the other, and
in mysterious caverns, like that of Fingal, within
whose depths I could see the burnished pillars gleam-
ing. In the front there was a flight of lofty terraces,
at the top of which I could see a man with his head
buried forward towards a key-board, and his body
swaying from side to side amid the storm of huge
arpeggioed harmonies that came crashing overhead
and round. Then there was one who touched me on
the shoulder, and said, " Do you not see ? it is
Handel; " — but I had hardly apprehended, and was

30

EREWHON.

trying to scale the terraces, and get near him, when I
awoke, dazzled with the vividness and distinctness of
the dream.

A piece of wood had burned through, and the ends
had fallen into the ashes with a blaze : this, I sup-
posed, had both given me my dream and robbed me of
it. I was bitterly disappointed, and sitting up on my
elbow, came back to reality and my strange surround-
ings as best I could.

I was thoroughly aroused — moreover, I felt a fore-
shadowing as though my attention were arrested by
something more than the dream, although no sense
in particular was as yet appealed to. I held my breath
and waited, and then I heard — was it fancy ? Nay ;
I listened again and again, and I did hear a faint and
extremely distant sound of music, like that of an
iEolian harp, borne upon the wind, which was blowing
fresh and chill from the opposite mountains.

The roots of my hair thrilled. I listened, but the
wind had died ; and, fancying that it must have been
the wind itself, — no ; on a sudden I remembered the
noise which Chowbok had made in the wool-shed.
Yes ; it was that.

Thank Heaven, whatever it was, it was over now.
I reasoned with myself, and recovered my firmness.
I became convinced that I had only been dreaming
more vividly than usual. Soon I began even to laugh,
and think what a fool I was to be frightened at
nothing ; and reminded myself that, even if I were to
come to a bad end, it would be no such dreadful
matter after all. I said my prayers, a duty which I
had too often neglected, and in a little time fell into
a really refreshing sleej}, which lastedn till broad day-

THE SADDLE.

3!

light, and restored me. I rose, and searching among
the embers of my fire, I found a few live coals, and
soon had a blaze again. I got breakfast, and was
delighted to have the company of several small birds,
which hopped about me, and perched on my boots and
hands. I felt comparatively happy, but I can assure
the reader that I had had a far worse time of it than I
have told him ; and I strongly recommend him to remain
in Europe if he can ; or, at any rate, in some country
which has been explored and settled, rather than go
into places where others have not been before him.
Exploring is delightful to look forward to and back
upon, but it is not comfortable at the time, unless it
be of such an easy nature as not to deserve the
name.

CHAPTER Y.

THE RIVER AND THE RANGE.

IffY next business was to descend upon the river. I
-L'-*- had lost sight of the pass which I had seen from
the saddle, but had made such notes of it that I could
not fail to find it. I was bruised and stiff, and my
boots had begun to give, for I had been going on
rough ground for more than three weeks ; but, as the
day wore on, and I found myself descending without
serious difficulty, I became easier. In a couple. of hours
I got among pine forests where there was little under-
growth, and descended quickly till I reached the edge
of another precipice, which gave me a great deal of
trouble, though I eventually managed to avoid it. By
about three or four o'clock I found myself on the
river-bed.

From calculations which I made as to the height
of the valley on the other side the saddle, I have since
concluded that the saddle itself could not be less than
nine thousand feet high ; and I should think that the
river-bed, on to which I now descended, was three
thousand feet above the sea level. The water had a
terrific current, with a fall of not less than forty to fifty
feet per mile. It was certainly the river next to the
northward of that which flowed past my master's run,
and would have to go through an utterly impassable

THE RIVER AND THE RANGE.

33

gorge (as is commonly the case with the rivers of that
country) before it came upon known parts. It was
reckoned to be nearly two thousand feet above the sea
level where it came out of the gorge on to the plains.

As soon as I got to the river side, I liked it even
less than I thought I should. It was muddy, being
near its parent glaciers. The stream was wide, rapid,
and rough, and I could hear the smaller stones knock-
ing against each other under the rage of the waters,
as upon a sea shore. Fording was simply out of the
question. I could not swim and carry my swag, and
I dared not leave my swag behind me. My only
chance was to make a small raft ; and that would be
difficult to make, and not at all safe when it was
made, — not for one man in such a current.

As it was too late to do much that afternoon, I
spent the rest of it in going up and down the river
side, and seeing where I should find the most favour-
able crossing. Then I camped early, and had a quiet
comfortable night, with no more music, for which I
was thankful, as it had haunted me all day, although
I perfectly well knew that it had been nothing but my
own fancy, brought on by the reminiscence of what I
had heard from Chowbok, and by the over-excitement
of the preceding evening.

The next day I began gathering the dry bloom
stalks of a kind of flag or iris-looking plant, which
was abundant, and whose leaves, when torn into
strips, were as strong as the strongest string. I
brought them to the water side, and fell to making
myself a kind of rough platform, which should suffice
for myself and my swag, if I could only stick to it. The
stalks were ten or twelve feet long, and very strong,

o

34

ERE WHOM

but light and hollow. I made my raft entirely of
them, binding bundles of them at right angles to
each other, neatly and strongly, with strips from the
leaves of the same plant, and tying other rods across.
It took me all day till nearly four o'clock to make ;
but I had still enough daylight to cross, and proceeded
to do so.

I had selected a place where the river got broad
and comparatively still, some seventy or eighty yards
above a furious rapid. At this spot I had built my
raft. I now launched it, made my swag fast to the
middle, and got on to it myself, keeping in my
hand one of the longest blossom stalks, so that I
might punt myself across as long as the water was
shallow enough to let me do so. I got on pretty well
for twenty or thirty yards from the shore, but even in
this short space, I nearly upset my raft, by shifting
too rapidly from one side to the other. The water
then became much deeper, and I leaned over so far
in order to get the bloom rod to the bottom, that I
had to stay still, leaning on the rod for a few seconds.
Then, when I lifted up the rod from the ground, the
current was too much for me, and I found myself
being carried down the rapid. Everything in a
second flew past me, and I had no more control over
my raft ; neither can I remember anything at all save
a flying over furious waters, which in the end upset
me. But it all came right, for I found myself near
the shore, not more than up to my knees in the water,
and pulling my raft to land, fortunately upon the left
bank of the river, which was the one I wanted. How
I had got there I do not know? but I was there, and
not more than a mile or so below the point from

<

THE RIVER AND THE RANGE. 35

which I started. My swag was wet upon the outside,
and I was myself dripping; but I had gained rny
point, and knew that my difficulties were for a time
over. I then lit my fire and dried myself ; also, I
caught several ducks and young sea-gulls, which were
abundant on the river-bed, so that I had a really good
meal, of which I was in great want, having had an
insufficient diet from the time that Chowbok left
me.

I thought of Chowbok, and felt how useful he had
been to me, and in how many ways I was the loser by
his absence, having now to do all sorts of things for
myself which he had hitherto done for me, and could
do infinitely better than I could. Moreover, I had
set my heart upon making him a real convert to the
Christian religion, which he had already embraced
outwardly, though I cannot think that it had taken
any deep root in his impenetrably stupid nature. I
used to catechise him by our camp fire, and explain
to him the mysteries of the Trinity and of original
sin, with which I was myself familiar, having been
the grandson of an archdeacon by my mother's side,
to say nothing of the fact that my father was a clergy-
man of the English Church. I was, therefore, suffi-
ciently qualified for the task; and was the more
inclined to it (over and above my real desire to save
the unhappy creature from an eternity of torture), by
recollecting the promise of St James, that if any one
converted a sinner (which Chowbok surely was) he
should hide a multitude of sins. I reflected, there-
fore, that the conversion of Chowbok might, in some
degree, compensate for irregularities and shortcomings
in my own previous life, the remembrance of which

36

EREWHON.

had been more than once unpleasant to me during my
recent experiences.

Indeed, on one occasion I had even gone so far as to
baptize him (as well as I could), having ascertained that
he had certainly not been both christened and baptized,
and gathering (from his telling me that he had received
the name William from the missionary) that it was
probably the first-mentioned rite to which he had been
subjected. It appeared to me to be a most disgraceful
piece of carelessness on the part of the missionary,
that he should have omitted the second, and certainly
more important ceremony, which I have always under-
stood precedes christening, both in the case of infants
and of adult converts ; and when I thought of the
risks we were both incurring, I determined that there
should be no furthe.r delay. Fortunately it was not
yet twelve o'clock, so I baptized him at once from
one of the pannikins (the only vessels I had) re-
verently, and, I trust, efficiently. I then set myself
to work to instruct him in the deeper mysteries of our
belief, and to make( him, not only in name, but in
heart, a Christian.

It is true that I might not have succeeded, for
Chowbok was very hard to teach. Indeed, on the
same night that I baptized him, he tried for the
twentieth time to steal the brandy, which made me
rather unhappy as to whether I could have baptized
him rightly. He had a prayer-book — more than
twenty years old — which had been given him by the
missionaries, but the only thing in it which had taken
any living hold upon him was the title of Adelaide,
the Queen Dowager, which he would repeat whenever
strongly moved or touched, and which did really seem

THE RIVER AND THE RANGE.

37

to have some deep spiritual significance to him,
though he could never completely separate her in-
dividuality from that of Mary Magdalene, whose name
had also fascinated him, though in a less degree.

He was indeed stony ground, hut hy digging about
him I might have at any rate deprived him of all faith
in the religion of his tribe, which would have been
half way towards making him a sincere Christian ; and
now all this was cut off from me, and I could neither
be of further spiritual assistance to him, nor he of
bodily profit to myself: besides, any company was
better than being quite alone.

I got very melancholy as these reflections crossed
me, but when I had boiled the ducks and eaten them,
I was much better. I had a little tea left, and
about a pound of tobacco, which should last me for
another fortnight, with moderate smoking. Also, I
had eight ship biscuits, and, most precious of all,
about six ounces of brandy, which I proceeded to re-
duce to four, for the night was cold.

I rose with early dawn, and in an hour I was on
my way, feeling strange, not to say weak, from the *
burden of solitude ; but full of hope when I con-
sidered how many dangers I had overcome, and that
this day should see me at the summit of the dividing
range.

After a slow but steady climb of between three and
four hours, during which I met with no serious hin-
drance, I found myself upon a table land, and close to
a glacier which I recognised as marking the summit of
the pass. Above it towered a succession of rugged
precipices, and snowy mountain sides. The solitude
was greater than I could bear ; the mountain upon

38

ERE WHO N.

my master's sheep-run was a crowded thoroughfare
in comparison with this sombre sullen place. The
air, moreover, was dark and heavy, which made the
loneliness even more oppressive. There was an inky-
gloom over all that was not covered with snow and
ice. Grass there was none.

Each moment I felt increasing upon me that dread-
ful doubt as to my own identity — as to the continuity
of my past and present existence — which is the first
sign of that distraction which comes on those who have
lost themselves in the bush. I had fought against
this feeling hitherto, and had conquered it; but the
intense silence, and the gloom of this rocky wilderness,
were too much for me, and I felt that my power of
collecting myself was beginning to be impaired.

I rested for a little while, and then advanced
over very rough ground, until I reached the lower end
of the glacier. Then I saw another glacier, descending
from the eastern side into a small lake. I passed
along the western side of the lake, where the ground
was easier, and when I had got about half way, I ex-
» pected that I should see the plains which I had already
seen from the opposite mountains ; but it was not to
be so, for the clouds rolled up to the very summit of the*
pass, though they did not overlip it on to the side from
which I had come. I therefore soon found myself
enshrouded with a cold thin vapour, which prevented
my seeing more than a very few yards in front of me.
Then I came upon a large patch of old snow, in which
I could distinctly trace the half-melted tracks of goats
— and in one place, as it seemed to me, there had been
a dog following them. Had I lighted upon a land of
shepherds ? The ground, where not covered with snow,

THE RIVER AND THE RANGE.

39

was so poor and stony, and there was so little herbage,
that I could see no sign of a path or regular sheep
track. But I could not help feeling rather uneasy as
I wondered what sort of a reception I might meet with
if I were to come suddenly upon inhabitants. I was
thinking of this, and proceeding cautiously through
the mist, when I began to fancy that I saw some
objects darker than the cloud looming in front of
me. A few steps brought me nearer, and a shudder
of unutterable horror ran through me, when I saw a
circle of gigantic forms, many times higher than
myself, upstanding grim and grey through the veil of
cloud before me.

I believe I fainted — for how long I shall never know.
I was deadly sick and cold when I came to myself.
There were the figures, quite still and silent, seen
vaguely through the thick gloom, but in human shape
indisputably.

A sudden thought occurred to me, which would have
doubtless struck me at once, had I not been pre-
possessed with forebodings at the time that I first
saw the figures, and had not the cloud concealed them
from me — I mean that they were not living beings,
but statues. I determined that I would count fifty
slowly, and was sure that the objects were not alive if
during that time I could detect no sign of motion.

How thankful was I when I came to the end of my
fifty, and there had been no movement !

I counted a second time — but again all was still.

I then advanced timidly forward, and in another
moment I saw that my surmises were correct. I
had come upon a sort of Stonehenge of rude and
barbaric figures, seated as Chowbok had sat when

4°

EREWHON.

I questioned him in the wool-shed, and with the same
snperhumanly malevolent expression upon their faces.
They had been all seated, but two had fallen. They
were barbarous — neither Egyptian, nor Assyrian, nor
J apanese — different from any of these, and yet akin to
all. They were six or seven times larger than life, of
great antiquity, worn and lichen grown. They were ten
in number. There was snow upon their heads, and
wherever snow could lodge. Each statue had been
built of four or five enormous blocks, but how these
had been raised and put together, is known to those
alone who raised them. Each was terrible after a
different kind. One was raging furiously, as in pain
and great despair ; another was lean and cadaverous
with famine ; another cruel and idiotic, but with the
silliest simper that can be conceived — this one had
fallen, and looked exquisitely ludicrous in his fall — •
the mouths of all were more or less open, and as I
looked at them from behind, I saw that their heads
had been hollowed.

I was sick and shivering with cold. Solitude had
unmanned me already, and I was utterly unfit to have
come upon such an assembly of fiends in such a dread-
ful wilderness and without preparation. I am afraid I
cried, and I would certainly have given everything I
had in the world to have been back at my master's
station ; but that was not to be thought of : I felt
sure that I could never get back alive.

Then came a gust of howling wind, accompanied
with a moan from one of the statues above me. I
clasped my hands in fear. I felt like a rat caught
in a trap, as though I would have turned and bitten
at whatever thing was nearest me. The wildness of

THE RIVER AND THE RANGE.

the wind increased, the moans grew shriller, coming
from several statues, and swelling into a chorus. I
almost immediately knew what it was, but the sound
was so unearthly that this was but little consolation.
The inhuman beings into whose hearts the Evil One
had put it to conceive these statues, had made their
heads into a sort of organ pipe, so that their mouths
should catch the wind and sound with its blowing.
It was horrible. However brave a man might be, he
could never stand such a concert, from such lips, and
in such a place. I heaped every invective upon
them that my tongue could utter, as I rushed away
from them into the mist, and even after I had lost
sight of them, and turning my head round, could see
nothing but the storm wraiths driving behind me, I
heard their ghostly chanting, and felt as though one
of them would rush after me, and grip me in his hand,
and throttle me.

I may say here that, since my return to England,
I heard a friend playing some chords upon the organ
which put me very forcibly in mind of the Erewhon-
ian statues (for Erewhon is the name of the country
upon which I was now entering). They rose most
vividly to my recollection the moment my friend
began. They are as follows, and are by the greatest
of all musicians : — ■

CHAPTER VI.

INTO EEE¥HON,

A ND now I found myself on a narrow path which
followed a small watercourse. I was too glad to
have an easy track for my flight, to lay hold of the
full significance of its existence. Thoughts, however,
soon came crowding in upon me, that I must "be in
'an inhabited country, but one which was yet unknown.
What, then, was to be my fate at the hands of its
inhabitants ? Should I be taken and offered up as a
burnt-offering to those hideous guardians of the pass ?
It might be so. I shuddered at the thought, yet the
horrors of solitude had now fairly possessed me ; and
so dazed was I, and chilled, and woebegone, that I
could lay hold of no idea firmly, amid the crowd of
fancies that were wandering in upon my brain.

I hurried onward — down, down, down. More streams
came in ; then there was a bridge, a few pine logs
thrown over the water ; but they gave me comfort, for
savages do not make bridges. Then I had a treat
such as I can never convey on paper — a moment, per-
haps, the most striking and unexpected in my whole
life — the one I think that, with some three or four
exceptions, I would most gladly have again, were I
able to recall it. I got below the level of the clouds,
into a burst of brilliant evening sunshine. I was

44

ERE WHO N.

facing the north- west, and the sun was full upon me.
Oh, how its light cheered me ! But what I saw ! It
was such an expanse as was revealed to Moses when
he stood upon the summit of Mount Pisgah, and be-
held that promised land which it was not to be his to
enter. The beautiful sunset sky was crimson and
gold; blue, silver, and purple; exquisite and tranquil-
lising; fading away therein were plains, on which
I could see many a town and city, with buildings that
had lofty steeples and rounded domes. Nearer, beneath
me, lay ridge behind ridge, outline behind outline,
sunlight behind shadow, and shadow behind sunlight,
gully and serrated ravine. I saw large pine forests,
and the glitter of a noble river winding its way upon
the plains ; also, many villages and hamlets, some of
them quite near at hand ; and it was on these that I
pondered most. I sank upon the ground at the foot
of a large tree, and thought what I had best do;
but I could not collect myself. I was quite tired out ;
and presently, feeling warmed by the sun, and quieted,
I fell off into a profound sleep.

I was awoke by the sound of tinkling bells ; and,
looking up, I saw four or five goats feeding near me.
As soon as I moved, the creatures turned their heads
towards me with an expression of infinite wonder.
They did not run away, but stood stock still, and
looked at me from every side, as I at them. Then
came the sound of chattering and laughter, and there
approached two lovely girls, of about seventeen or
eighteen years old, dressed each in a sort of linen
gaberdine, with a girdle round the waist. They saw
me. I sat quite still and looked at them, dazzled
with their extreme beauty. For a moment they

INTO EREWHON.

45

looked at me and at each other in great amazement ;
then they gave a little frightened cry, and ran off as
hard as they could.

" So that's that," said I to myself, as I watched
them scampering. I knew that I had better stay
where I was, and meet my fate, whatever it was to be ;
neither, were there any better course, had I strength
left to take it. I must come into contact with the
inhabitants sooner or later, and it might as well be
sooner. Better not to seem afraid of them, as I should
do by running away, and being caught with a hue
and cry to-morrow or next day. So I remained quite
still, and waited. In about an hour I heard distant
voices talking excitedly; and in a few minutes I
saw the two girls bringing up a party of six or seven
men, well armed with bows and arrows and pikes.
There was nothing for it, so I remained sitting quite
still, even after they had seen me, until they came
close up. Then we all had a good look at one an-
other.

Both the girls and the men were very dark in
colour, but not more so than the South Italians or
Spaniards. The men wore no trousers, but were dressed
nearly the same as the Arabs whom I have seen in
Algeria. They were of the most magnificent presence,
being no less strong and handsome than the women
were beautiful ; and not only this, but their expres-
sion was courteous and benign. I think they would
have killed me at once if I had made the slightest
show of violence ; but they gave me no impression
of their being likely to hurt me so long as I was
quiet. I am not much given to liking anybody at
first sight, but these people impressed me much more

46

ERE WHO N.

favourably than I should have thought possible ; so
that I could not fear them, as I scanned their faces
one after another. They were all powerful men. I
might have been a match for any one of them singly,
for I have been told that I have more to glory in in the
flesh than in any other respect, being over six feet,
and proportionately strong ; but any two could have
soon mastered me, even were I not so bereft of energy
by my recent adventures. My colour seemed to sur-
prise them most, for I have light hair, blue eyes, and
a fresh complexion. They could not understand how
these things could be ; also, my clothes seemed quite
beyond them. Their eyes kept wandering all over me ;
and the more they looked, the less they seemed able
to understand me.

At last I raised myself upon my feet, and leaning
upon my stick, I spoke whatever came into my head
to the man who seemed foremost among them. I
spoke in English, though I was very sure that he
would not understand. I said that I had no idea what
country I was in ; that I had stumbled upon it almost
by accident, after a series of hairbreadth escapes ; and
that I trusted they would not allow any evil to over-
take me, now that I was completely at their mercy.
All this I said quietly and firmly, with hardly any
change of expression. They could not understand me,
but they looked approvingly to one another, and
seemed pleased (so I thought) that I showed no fear
nor acknowledgment of inferiority — the fact being
that I was exhausted beyond the sense of fear. Then
one of them pointed to the mountain, in the direction
of the statues,, and made a grimace in imitation of
one of them. I laughed and shuddered expressively,

INTO ERE WHO N.

47

whereon they all burst out laughing too, and chattered
hard to one another. I could make out nothing of
what they said, but I think they thought it rather a
good joke that I had come past the statues. Then one
among them came forward and motioned me to follow,
which I did gladly enough, for I dared not thwart
them ; moreover, I liked them well enough, and felt
tolerably sure that they had no intention of hurting
me.

In about a quarter of an hour we got to a small
hamlet built on the side of a hill, with a narrow street
and houses huddled up together. The roofs were large
and overhanging. Some few windows were glazed,
but not many. Altogether the village was exceedingly
like one of those that one comes upon in descending
the less known passes over the Alps on to Lombardy.
I will pass over the excitement which my arrival
caused. Suffice it that, though there was abundance
of curiosity, there was no rudeness. I was taken to
the principal house, which seemed to belong to the
people who had captured me. There I was hospitably
entertained, and a supper of milk and goat's flesh, with
a kind of oatcake, was set before me, of which I ate
heartily. But all the time I was eating, I could not
help turning my eyes upon the two beautiful girls
whom I had first seen, and who seemed to consider
me as their lawful prize — which indeed I was, for I
would have gone through fire and water for either of
them,

Th en came the inevitable surprise at seeing me
smoke, which I will spare the reader; but I noticed that,
when they saw me strike a match, there was a hubbub
of excitement which, it struck me, was not altogether

48

EREWHON.

unmixed with disapproval ; why, I could not guess.
Then the women retired, and I was left alone with the
men, who tried to talk to me in every conceivable way :
but we could come to no understanding, except that I
was quite alone, and had come from a long way over
the mountains. In the course of time they grew tired,
and I, very sleepy. I made signs as though I would
sleep on the floor in my blankets, but they gave me
one of their bunks, with plenty of dried fern and grass,
on to which I had no sooner laid myself than I fell
fast asleep ; nor did I awake till well into the follow-
ing day, when I found myself in the hut with two men
keeping guard over me, and an old woman cooking,
When I woke the men seemed pleased, and spoke to
me as though bidding me good morning in a pleasant
tone.

I went out of doors to wash in a creek which ran a
few yards from the house. My hosts were as engrossed
with me as ever ; they never took their eyes off me,
following every action that I did, no matter how trifling,
and each looking towards the other for his opinion at
every touch and turn. They took great interest in my
ablutions, for they seemed to have doubted whether
I was in all respects human like themselves. They
even laid hold of my arms and overhauled them, and
expressed approval when they saw that they were
strong and muscular. They now examined my legs,
and especially my feet. When they desisted they
nodded approvingly to each other; and when I had
combed and brushed my hair,- and generally made my-
self as neat and well arranged as circumstances would
allow, I could see that their respect for me increased
greatly, and that they were by no means sure that they

INTO ERE WHO N.

49

had treated me with sufficient deference — a matter
on which I am not competent to decide. All I know
is that they were very good to me, for which I
thanked them heartily, as it might well have been
otherwise.

For my own part, I certainly liked them and admired
them, their quiet self-possession and dignified ease
impressing me pleasurably at once. Neither did their
manner make me feel as though I were personally dis-
tasteful to them — only that I was a thing utterly new
and unlooked for, which they could not comprehend.
Their type was more that of the most robust Italians
than any other ; their manners also were eminently
Italian, in their entire unconsciousness of self. Having
travelled a good deal in Italy, I was struck with little
gestures of the hand and shoulders, which constantly
reminded me of that country. My feeling was that
my wisest plan would be to go on as I had begun, and
be simply myself for better or worse, such as I was,
and take my chance accordingly. I thought of these
things while they were waiting for me to have done
washing, and on my way back. Then they gave me
breakfast — hot bread and milk, and fried flesh of some-
thing between mutton and venison. Their ways of
cooking and eating were European, though they had
only a skewer for a fork, and a sort of butcher's knife
to cut with. The more I looked at everything in the
house, the more I was struck with its quasi-European
character; and had the walls only been pasted over
with extracts from the Illustrated London News and
Punchy I could have almost fancied myself in a shep-
herd's hut upon my master's sheep-run. And yet
everything was slightly different. It was much the

D

EREWHON.

same with the birds and flowers on the other side, as
compared with the English ones. When I had
arrived there I was pleased at noticing that nearly
all the plants and birds were very like common Eng-
lish ones : thus, there was a robin, and a lark, and a
wren, and daisies, and dandelions; certainly not quite
the same as the English, but still very like them —
quite like enough to be called by the same name : so
now, here, the ways of these two men, and the things
they had in the house, were all very nearly the same
as in Europe. It was not at all like going to China or
Japan, where everything that one sees is strange.
I was certainly at once struck with the exceedingly
primitive character of their appliances ; for they
seemed to be some five or six hundred years behind
Europe in their inventions; but this is the case in
many an Italian village.

All the time that I was eating my breakfast I kept
speculating as to what family of mankind they could
possibly belong to; and shortly there came an idea
into my head, which brought the blood into my cheeks
with excitement as I thought of it. Was it possible
that they- might be the lost ten tribes of Israel, of
whom I had heard both my grandfather and my father
make mention as existing in an unknown country,
and awaiting a final return to Palestine? Was it
possible that /might have been designed by Providence
as the instrument of their conversion ? Oh, what a
thought was this ! I laid down my skewer, and gave
them a hasty survey. There was nothing of a Jewish
type about them : their noses were distinctly Grecian,
and their lips, though full, were not Jewish.

How could I settle this question ? I knew neither

INTO ERE WHO N.

Si

Greek nor Hebrew, and even if I should get to under-
stand the language here spoken, I should be unable
to detect the roots of either of these tongues. I had
not been long enough among them to ascertain their
habits, but they did not give me the impression of
being a religious people. This too was natural : the
ten tribes had been always lamentably irreligious.
But could I not make them change ? To restore the
lost ten tribes of Israel to a knowledge of the only
truth : here would be indeed an immortal crown of
glory ! ' My heart beat fast and furious as I enter-
tained the thought. What a position would it not
ensure me in the next world; or perhaps even in
this ! What folly it would be to throw such a chance
away ! I should rank next to the Apostles, if not as
high as they — certainly above the minor prophets, and
possibly above any Old Testament writer except Moses
and Isaiah. For such a future as this I would sacri-
fice all that I have without a moment's hesitation,
could I be reasonably assured of it. I had always
cordially approved of missionary efforts, and had at
times contributed my mite towards their support and
extension ; but I had never hitherto felt drawn to-
wards becoming a missionary myself ; and indeed had
always admired, and envied, and respected them, more
than I had exactly liked them. But if these people
were the lost ten tribes of Israel, the case would be
widely different : the opening was too excellent to be
lost, and I resolved that should I see indications which
appeared to confirm my impression that I had indeed
come upon the missing tribes, I would certainly con-
vert them.

I may here mention that this discovery is the one

52

ERE WHO N.

to which. I alluded in the opening pages of my story.
Time strengthened the impression made npon me at
first; and, though I remained in doubt for several
months, I feel now no longer uncertain.

When I had done eating, my hosts approached, and
pointed down the valley leading to their own country,
as though wanting to show that I must go with them ;
at the same time they laid hold of my arms, and made
as though they would take me, but used no violence.
I laughed, and motioned my hand across my throat,
and pointed down the valley also, meaning that I was
afraid lest I should be killed when I got there. But
they divined me at once, and shook their heads with
much decision, to show that I was in no danger. Their
manner quite reassured me ; and in half an hour or
so I had packed up my swag, and was eager for the
forward journey, feeling wonderfully strengthened and
refreshed by good food and sleep, while my hope and
curiosity were aroused to their very utmost by the
extraordinary position in which I found myself.

But already my excitement had begun to cool ; and
I reflected that these people might not be the ten
tribes after all ; in which case I could not but regret
that my hopes of making money, which had led me
into so much trouble and danger, were almost anni-
hilated by the fact that the country was already full
to overflowing, with a people who had probably
already developed its more available resources. More-
over, how was I to get back ? For there was some-
thing about my hosts which told me that they had
got me, and meant to keep me, in spite of all their
goodness. "With these thoughts I started on my
downward journey.

)

CHAPTER YIL

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

T17E followed an Alpine path for some four miles,
now hundreds of feet above a brawling stream
which descended from the glaciers, and now nearly
alongside it. The morning was cold and somewhat
foggy, for the autumn had made great strides latterly.
Sometimes we went through forests of pine, or rather
yew trees, though they looked like pine ; and I re-
member that now and again we passed a little way-
side shrine, wherein there would be a statue of great
beauty, representing some figure, male or female, in
the very heyday of youth, strength, and beauty, or of
the most dignified maturity and old age, but with no
pretence to anything of a devotional character. My
hosts always bowed their heads as they passed one of
these shrines, and it shocked me to see statues that
had no apparent object, beyond the chronicling of
some unusual individual excellence or beauty, receive
so serious a homage. However, I showed no sign of
wTonder or disapproval ; for I remembered that to be
all things to all men was one of the injunctions of
the Gentile Apostle, which, for the present, I should
do well to heed. Shortly after passing one of these
chapels, we came suddenly upon a village which started
up out of the mist ; and I was alarmed lest I should

54

ERE WHO N.

be made an object of curiosity or dislike. But it was
not so. My guides spoke to many in passing, and
those spoken to showed much amazement. My guides,
however ; were well known, and the natural politeness
of the people prevented them from putting me to any
inconvenience ; but they could not help eyeing me,
nor I them. I may as well say at once what my
after-experience taught me — namely, that with all
their faults, and extraordinary obliquity of mental
vision upon many subjects, they are the very best-
bred people that I ever fell in with. The village was
just such an one as we had left, only rather larger.
The streets were narrow and unpaved, but very fairly
clean. The vine grew outside many of the houses ;
and there were some with signboards, on which was
painted a bottle and a glass, that made me feel much
at home. Even on this ledge of human society there
was a stunted growth of shoplets, which had taken
root and vegetated somehow, though as in an air
mercantile of the bleakest. It was here as hitherto :
all things were generically the same as in Europe, the
differences being of species only ; and I was amused at
seeing in a window some bottles with barley-sugar,
and sweetmeats for children, as at home ; but the
barley-sugar was in plates, not in twisted sticks, and
was coloured blue. Glass was plentiful in the better
houses. Lastly, I should say that the people were of a
physical beauty which was simply amazing. I never
saw anything in the least comparable to them. The
women were vigorous, and had a most majestic gait,
their heads being set upon their shoulders with a grace
beyond all power of expression. Each feature was
finished, eyelids, eyelashes, and ears being almost in-

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 55

variably perfect. Their colour was equal to that of the
very finest Venetian or Bolognese paintings; of the
clearest olive, and yet ruddy with a glow of perfect
health. Their expression was divine; and, as they
glanced at me timidly, but with parted lips, in great
bewilderment, I forgot all thoughts of their conversion
in feelings that were far more earthly. I was dazzled
as I saw one after the other, of whom I could only
feel that each was the loveliest I had ever seen. Even
in middle age they were wondrous comely, and the
old grey-haired women at their cottage doors had a
dignity, not to say majesty, of their own. The men
were as handsome as the women beautiful. I have
always delighted in and reverenced beauty ; but I
felt simply abashed in the presence of such a splendid
type — a compound of all that is best in Egyptian,
Greek, and Italian; but, perhaps, more like G-iorgione
at his ripest, than anything else. The children were
infinite in number, and exceedingly merry ; I need
hardly say that they came in for their full share of
the prevailing beauty. I expressed by signs my
admiration and pleasure to my guides, and they were
greatly pleased. I should add that all seemed to
take a pride in their personal appearance, and that
even the poorest (and none seemed rich) were well
kempt and tidy. I could fill many pages with a
description of their dress and the ornaments which
they wore, and a hundred details which struck me
with all the force of novelty ; but I must not stay to
do so, having many other matters to deal with.

When we had got past the village the fog rose, and
revealed magnificent views of the snowy mountains
and their nearer abutments, while in front I could

t

56

ERE WHO N.

now and again catch glimpses of the great plains
which I had surveyed on the preceding evening. The
country was highly cultivated, every ledge being
planted with chestnuts, and walnuts, and vines, from
which the grapes were now gathering. G-oats were
abundant ; also a kind of small black cattle, in the
marshes near the river, which was now fast widening,
and running between larger flats, from which the hills
receded more and more. I saw a few sheep, with
rounded noses and enormous tails. Dogs were there
in plenty, and very English ; but I saw no cats, nor
indeed are these creatures known, their place being
supplied by a sort of small terrier.

In about four hours of walking from the time we
started, and after passing two or three more villages,
we came upon a considerable town, and my guides
made many attempts to make me understand some-
thing, but I gathered no inkling of their meaning —
except that I need be under no apprehension of danger.
I will spare the reader any description of the town, and
would only bid him think of Domodossola or Faido.
Suffice it that I found myself taken before the chief
magistrate, and that by his orders I was placed in an
apartment with two other people, who were the first
I had seen looking anything but well and handsome.
In fact, one of them was plainly very much out of
health, and coughed violently from time to time, in
spite of manifest efforts to suppress it. The other
looked pale and ill, but he was marvellously self-con-
tained, and it was impossible to say what was the
matter with him. Both of them appeared astonished
at seeing one who was evidently a stranger, but they
were too ill to come up to me, and form conclusions

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

57

concerning me. These two were first called out ; and
in about a quarter of an hour I was made to follow
them, which I did in some fear, and with much
curiosity.

The chief magistrate was a venerable-looking man,
with white hair and beard, and a face of great
sagacity. He looked me all over for about five
minutes, letting his eyes wander from the crown of
my head to the soles of my feet, up and down, and
down and up ; neither did his mind seem in the least
clearer when he had done looking than when he began.
He at length asked me a single short question, which
I supposed meant " Who are you ? " I answered in
English quite composedly, as though he would under-
stand me, and endeavoured to be my very most
natural self as well as I could. He appeared more
and more puzzled, and then retired, returning with
two others much like himself. Then they took me
into an inner room, and the two fresh arrivals stripped
me, while the chief looked on. They felt my pulse,
they looked at my tongue, they listened at my chest,
they felt all my muscles ; and at the end of each
operation they looked at the chief and nodded, and
said something in a tone quite pleasant, as though I
were all right. They even pulled down my eyelids,
and looked, I suppose, to see if they were bloodshot ;
but it was not so. At length they gave up ; and I
think that all were satisfied of my being in the most
perfect health, and very robust to boot. At last the
old magistrate made me a speech of about five minutes
long, which the other two appeared to think greatly
to the point, but from which I gathered nothing. As
soon as it was ended, they proceeded to overhaul my

53

EREWHON.

swag and the contents of my pockets. This gave me
little uneasiness, for I had no money with me, nor
anything which they were at all likely to want, or
which I cared about losing. At least I fancied so,
but I soon found my mistake.

They got on comfortably at first, though they were
much puzzled with my tobacco-pipe, and insisted on
seeing me use it. When I had shown them what I
did with it, they were astonished, but not displeased,
and seemed to like the smell. But by and by they
came to my watch, which I had hidden away in the
inmost pocket that I had, and which I had forgotten
when they began their search. They seemed con-
cerned and uneasy the moment that they got hold of
it. They then made me open it and show the works ;
and, as soon as I had done so, they gave signs of very
grave displeasure, though I could not conceive wherein
it could have offended them.

I remember that, when they first found it, I had
thought of Paley, and how he tells us that a savage,
on seeing a watch, would at once conclude that it was
designed. It was true that these people were not
savages, but I none the less felt sure that this was
the conclusion they would arrive at ; and I was
thinking what a wonderfully wise man Archbishop
Paley must have been, when I was aroused by a look
of horror and dismay upon the face of the magistrate, a
look which conveyed to me the impression that he
regarded my watch not as being designed, but rather
as the designer of himself and of the universe ; or as,
at any rate, one of the great first causes of all things.
Then it struck me that this view was quite as likely
to be taken as the other, by a people who had no

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

59

experience of European civilisation, and I was a little
piqued with Paley for having led me so much astray ;
but I soon discovered that I had misinterpreted the
expression on the magistrate's face, and that it was
one not of fear, but hatred. He spoke to me solemnly
and sternly for two or three minutes. Then, reflecting
that this was of no use, he caused me to be conducted
through several passages into a large room, which I
afterwards found was the museum of the town, and
wherein I beheld a sight which astonished me more
than anything that I had yet seen.

It was filled with cases containing all manner of
curiosities — such as skeletons, stuffed birds and
animals, carvings in stone (whereof I saw several
that were like those on the plateau, only smaller), but
the greater part of the room was occupied by broken
machinery of all descriptions. The larger specimens
had a case to themselves, and tickets with writing
on them in a character which I could not understand.
There were fragments of steam engines, all broken
and rusted — such as a cylinder and piston, a broken
fly-wheel, and part of a crank, which was laid on the
ground by their side. Again, there was a very old
carriage whose wheels, in spite of rust and decay,
I could see, had been designed originally for iron
rails. Indeed, there were fragments of a great many
of our own most advanced inventions: but thev
seemed all to be at least several hundred years old,
and to be placed where they were, not for instruction,
but curiosity. As I said before, all were marred and
broken.

We passed many cases, and at last came to one
in which there were several clocks ; and among them

6o

EREWHON.

two or three old watches. Then the magistrate took
my watch and compared it. The design was different,
but the thing was clearly the same. On this, he
turned to me and made me a speech in a severe and
injured tone of voice, and pointed repeatedly to the
watches in the case, and to my own ; neither did he
seem in the least appeased until I made signs to him
that he had better take my watch, and put it with
the others. This had some effect in calming him. I
said in English (trusting to tone and manner to
convey my meaning) that I was exceedingly sorry if
. I had been found to have anything contraband in my
possession ; that I had had no intention of evading
the ordinary tolls; and that I would gladly forfeit
the watch if my doing so would atone for an uninten-
tional violation of the law. He began presently to
acquiesce, and spoke to me in a kinder manner. I
* . think he saw that I had offended without knowledge ;

but I believe the real thing that pleased him was my
not seeming to be afraid of him, although I was quite
respectful ; this, and my having light hair and com-
plexion, on which he had remarked previously by
signs, as every one else had done. I afterwards
found that it was reckoned a very great distinction
among them to have fair hair, this being a thing of
the rarest possible occurrence, and greatly admired
and envied in all who were possessed of it. How-
ever that might be, my watch was taken from me ;
but our peace was made, and I was conducted back
to the room where I had been examined. The magis-
trate then made me another speech, whereon I was
taken to a building hard by, which I soon discovered
to be the common prison of the town, but in which an

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 61

apartment was assigned me separate from the other
prisoners. The room contained a bed, table, and
chairs, also a fireplace and a washing-stand. There
was another door, which opened on to a balcony, with
a flight of steps descending into a walled garden of
some size. The man who conducted me into this
room made signs to me that I might go down and
walk in the garden whenever I pleased ; and inti-
mated, moreover, that I should shortly have some-
thing brought me to eat. I was allowed to retain
my blankets, and the few things which I had wrapped
inside them, but it was plain that I was to consider
myself a prisoner — for how long a period I could not
by any means determine. He then left me alone.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN PEISON.

A ND now for the first time my courage completely
failed me. It is enough, to say that I was penni-
less, and a prisoner in a foreign country, where I had
no friend, nor any knowledge of the customs or lan-
guage of the people. I sank upon the bed, and
thought what I had better do. And yet, engrossed as
I was with my extremely difficult and doubtful posi-
tion, I could not help feeling great curiosity as to
the people among whom I had fallen. What was the
meaning of that room full of old machinery which I
had just seen, and of the displeasure with which the
magistrate had regarded my watch? The people had
very little machinery now. I had been struck with
this over and over again, though I had not been more
than four-and-twenty hours in the country. They
were about as far advanced as Europeans of the
twelfth or thirteenth century; certainly not more so.
And yet they must have had at one time the fullest,
knowledge of our own most recent inventions. How
could it have happened that, having been once so far in
advance, they were now as much behind us ? It was
evident that it was not from ignorance. They knew
my watch as a watch when they saw it ; and the care
with which the broken machines were preserved and

IN PRISON

63

ticketed, proved tliat they had not lost the recollection
of their former civilisation. The more I thought, the
less I could understand it ; but at last I concluded
that they must have worked out their mines of coal
and iron, till either none were left, or so few, that the
use of these metals was restricted to the very highest
nobility. This was the only solution I could think of;
and, though I afterwards found how entirely mistaken
it was, I felt quite sure then that it must be the right
one.

I had hardly arrived at this opinion for above four
or five minutes, when the door opened, and a most
beautiful young woman made her appearance with a
tray, and a very appetising smell of dinner. I gazed
upon her with admiration as she laid a cloth, and set
a savoury-looking dish upon the table. As I beheld
her I felt as though my position was already much
ameliorated, for the very sight of her carried great
comfort. She was not more than twenty, of about the
middle height, active and strong, but yet most deli-
cately featured ; her lips were full and sweet ; her
eyes were of a deep hazel, and fringed with the most
delicious eyelashes ; her hair was neatly braided
from off her forehead; her complexion was simply
exquisite ; her figure as robust as was consistent with
the most perfect female beauty, yet not more so ; her
hands and feet might have served as models to a
sculptor. Having set the stew upon the table, she
retired with a glance of pity, whereon (remembering
pity's kinsman) I decided that she should pity me a
little more. She returned with a bottle and a glass,
and found me sitting on the bed with my hands over
my face, looking the very picture of abject misery ;

64 ERE W HON.

and, like all pictures, rather untruthful. As I
watched her, through my fingers, out of the room
again, I felt sure that she was exceedingly sorry for
me. Her back being turned, I set to work and ate my
dinner, which was excellent.

She returned in about an hour to take away ; and
there came with her a man who had a great
bunch of keys at his waist, and whose manner con-
vinced me that he was the jailor. I afterwards found
that he was father to the beautiful creature who had
brought me my dinner. I am not a great hypocrite,
and do what I would, I could not look so very miser-
able. I had already recovered from my dejection, and
felt in a most genial humour, both with my jailor
and his daughter. I thanked them for their atten-
tion towards me ; and, though they could not under-
stand, they looked at one another, and laughed and
chattered till the old man said- something or other
which, I suppose, was a joke ; for the girl laughed
merrily and ran away, leaving her father to take
away the dinner things. Then I had another visitor,
who was not so prepossessing, and who seemed to
have a great idea of himself and a small one of me.
He brought a book with him, and pens and paper —
all very English ; and yet, neither paper, nor printing,
nor binding, nor pen, nor ink, were quite the same as
ours.

He gave me to understand that he was to teach me
the language, and that we were to begin at once. This
delighted me, both because I should be more comfort-
able when I could understand and make myself under-
stood, and because I supposed that the authorities
would hardly teach me the language if they intended

IN PRISON 65

any cruel usage towards me afterwards. We began
at once, and I learnt the names of everything in the
room, and also the numerals and personal pronouns.
I found, to my sorrow, that the resemblance to
European things, which I had so frequently observed
hitherto, did not hold good in the matter of language ;
for I could detect no analogy whatever between this
and any tongue of which I have the slightest know-
ledge,— a thing which made me think it possible that
I might be learning Hebrew.

I must detail no longer ; from this time my days
were spent with a monotony which would have been
tedious but for the society of Yram, the jailor's
daughter, who had taken a great fancy for me, and
treated me with the utmost kindness. The man came
every day to teach me the language, but my real
dictionary and grammar were Yram ; and I consulted
them to such purpose, that I made the most extra-
ordinary progress, being able at the end of a month
to understand a great deal of the conversation which
I overheard between Yram and her father. My teacher
professed himself well satisfied, and said he should
make a favourable report of me to the authorities. I
then questioned him as to what would probably be done
with me. He told me that my arrival had caused
great excitement throughout the country, and that I
was to be detained a close prisoner until the receipt of
advices from the Government. My having had a
watch, he said, was the only damaging feature in the
case. And then, in answer to my asking why this
should be so, he gave me a long story of which, with
my then imperfect knowledge of the language, I could
make nothing whatever, except that it was a very

E

66

ERE WHO N.

heinous offence, almost as bad (at least, so I thought
I understood him) as having typhus fever. But he
said he thought my light hair would save me.

I was allowed to walk in the garden ; there was a
high wall, so that I managed to play a sort of hand
fives, which prevented my feeling the bad effects of
my confinement, though it was stupid work playing
alone. In the course of time people from the town
and neighbourhood began to pester the jailor to be
allowed to see me, and on receiving handsome fees
he let them do so. The people were good to me ;
almost too good, for they were inclined to make a lion
of me, which I hated — at least the women were;
only they had to beware of Yram, who was a young
lady of a jealous temperament, and kept a sharp eye
both on me and on my lady visitors. However, I felt
so kindly towards her, and she had treated me so well,
and I was so entirely dependent upon her for almost
all that made my life a blessing and a comfort to me,
that I took good care not to vex her, and we remained
excellent friends. The men were far less inquisitive,
and would not, I believe, have come near me of their
own accord; but the women made them come as
escorts. I was delighted with their handsome mien,
and pleasant genial manners.

My food was plain, but always varied and whole-
some, and the good red wine was admirable. I had
found a sort of wort in the garden, which I sweated
in heaps, and then dried, obtaining thus a sub-
stitute for tobacco ; so that, what with Yram, the
language, visitors, fives in the garden, smoking, and
bed, my time slipped by more rapidly and pleasantly
than might have been expected. I also made myself

IN PRISON.

67

a small flute ; and being a tolerable player, amused
myself at times with playing snatches from operas,
and airs such as " Oh where and oh where," and
" Home, sweet home." This was of great advantage
to me, for the people of the country were ignorant of
the diatonic scale, and could hardly believe their ears
on hearing some of our most common melodies.
Often, too, they would make me sing ; and I could at
any time make Tram's eyes swim with tears by sing-
ing " Lascia ch'io Pianga," " Verdi Prati," " Oh
Placido il mare," or " Se non ho l'idol mio;" or as
much of them as I could remember.

I had one or two discussions with them, because
I never would sing on Sunday (of which I kept
count in my pocket-book), except chants and hymn
tunes, of which I regret to say that I had forgotten the
words, so that I could only sing the tune. They
appeared to have little or no religious feeling, and to
have never so much as heard of the divine institution
of the Sabbath; so they ascribed my unwillingness
to profane it to a fit of sulkiness, to which they
observed me liable on one day in seven. But they
were very tolerant, and one of them said to me quite
kindly, that she knew how impossible it was to help
being sulky at times, only she thought I ought to see
some one if it became more serious— a remark which
I then failed to understand, though I pretended to
take it quite as a matter of course.

Once only, did Tram treat me in a way that was
unkind and unreasonable, — at least, so I thought
it at the time. It happened thus. I had been
playing fives in the garden and got much heated.
Although the weather was cold and frosty, I had played

68

EREWHON.

without my coat and waistcoat, and took a sharp chill
on resting myself too long in the open air without
protection. The next day I had a severe cold, and
felt really poorly. Being little used even to the
lightest ailments, and thinking that it would be
rather nice to be petted and cossetted by Yram, I
certainly did not make myself out to be any better
than I was ; in fact, I am afraid I even made the
worst of things, and took it into my head to consider
myself upon the sick-list. When Yram brought me
my breakfast, I complained somewhat dolefully of my
indisposition, expecting the sympathy and humouring
which . I should have received from my mother and
sisters at home. Not a bit of it. She fired up in an
instant, and asked me what I meant by it, and how I
dared to presume to mention such a thing, especially
when I considered in what place I was. She had the
best mind to tell her father, only that she was afraid the
consequences would be so very serious for me. Her
manner was so injured and decided, and her anger so
evidently unfeigned, that I forgot my cold upon the
spot, begging her by all means to tell her father if
she wished to do so, and telling her that I had no
idea of being shielded by her from anything whatever;
presently mollifying, after having said as many biting
things as I could, I asked her what it was that I had
done amiss, and promised amendment as soon as ever
I became aware of it. She saw that I was really
ignorant, and had had no intention of being rude
to her; whereon it came out that illness of any sort
was considered in Erewhon to be highly criminal
and immoral; and that I was liable, even for
catching cold, to be had up before the magistrate,

IN PRISON.

69

and imprisoned for a considerable period — an an-
nouncement which struck me dumb with astonish-
ment.

I followed up the conversation with her as well as my
imperfect knowledge of the language would allow, and
caught a glimmering of her position with regard to ill-
health ; but I did not even then fully comprehend it,
nor had I as yet any idea of the other extraordinary per-
versions of thought which existed among them, but
with which I was soon to become familiar. I propose,
therefore, to make no mention of what passed between
us on this occasion, save that we were reconciled, and
that she brought me surreptitiously a hot glass of
spirits and water before I went to bed, also a huge pile
of extra blankets, and that the next morning there
were no traces of my cold left. I never remember to
have lost a cold so rapidly.

This little affair explained much which had been
heretofore an enigma. It seemed that the two men
who were examined before the magistrates on the day
of my arrival in the country, had been given in charge
011 account of ill health, and were both condemned to
a heavy term of imprisonment, with hard labour ; in
fact, they were now expiating their offence in this very
prison, and their exercise ground was a yard separated
by my fives wall from the garden in which I walked.
This accounted for the sounds of coughing and groan-
ing which I had often noticed as coming from the
other side of the wall : it was high, and I had not
dared to climb it, for fear the jailor should see me,
and think that I was trying to escape; but I had
often wondered what sort of people they could be on
the other side, and had resolved on asking the jailor ;

EREWHON.

but I seldom saw him, and Yram and I generally
found other things to talk about.

Another month flew by, during which I made such
progress in the language, that I could understand
all that was said to me, and even express myself with
tolerable fluency. My instructor professed to be
astonished with the progress I had made, which I
was careful to attribute to the pains he had taken
with me, and to his admirable method of explaining
my difficulties ; so we became excellent friends.

My visitors became more and more frequent.
Among them there were some, both men and women,
who delighted me entirely by their simplicity, un-
consciousness of self, kindly genial manners, and
last, but not least, by their exquisite beauty ; there
came others less well-bred, but still comely and
agreeable people, while some were snobs pure and
simple.

At the end of the third month, the jailor and my
instructor came together to visit me, and told me that
communications had been received from the G-overn-
ment to the effect that if I had behaved well and
seemed generally reasonable, and if there could be no
suspicion at all about my bodily health and vigour, and
if my hair was really light, and my eyes blue and com-
plexion fresh, I was to be sent up at once to the metro-
polis, in order that the king and queen might see me
and converse with me ; but that, when I arrived there, I
should be set at liberty, and that a suitable allowance
would be made me. My teacher also told me that one
of the leading merchants had sent me an invitation to
repair to his house, and to consider myself his guest
for as long a time as I chose. " He is a delightful

IN PRISON

man," continued the interpreter, "but has suffered,
terribly from" (here there came a long word that
I could not quite catch, only it was much, longer than
kleptomania), " and has but lately recovered, from
embezzling a large sum of money under singularly
distressing circumstances ; but he has quite got over
it, and the straighteners say that he has made a
really wonderful recovery : you are sure to like him."

CHAPTEE IX.

TO THE METROPOLIS.

"I17ITH the above words the good man left the
' " room — while I was myself bewildered at hear-
ing snch extraordinary language from the lips of
one who seemed a reputable member of society.
" Embezzle a large sum of money under singularly
distressing circumstances ! " I exclaimed to myself,
" and ask me to go and stay with him ! I shall do
nothing of the sort — compromise myself at the very
outset in the eyes of all decent people, and give the
death-blow to my chances of' either converting them,
if they are the lost tribes of Israel, or making money
out of them if they are not! No. I will do any-
thing rather than that." And when my teacher
returned I told him that I did not at all like the
sound of what had been proposed for me, and that I
would have nothing to do with it. For by my educa-
tion and the example of my own parents, and I trust
also in some degree from inborn instinct, I have
a very genuine dislike for all unhandsome dealing
in money matters, though none can have a greater
regard for money than I have, if it be got fairly.

The interpreter appeared much surprised by my
answer, and told me that I was very foolish if I per-
sisted in my refusal.

TO THE METROPOLIS.

73

" Mr Nosnibor," lie continued, " is a man of
at least 500,000 horse power" (for their way of
reckoning and classifying men is by the number
of foot pounds which they have money enough to raise,
or more roughly by their horse power), u and keeps
a capital table ; besides, his two daughters are among
the most beautiful women in Erewhon."

When I heard all this, I confess that I was much
shaken, and inquired whether he was favourably con-
sidered in the best society.

" Certainly," was the answer ; " no man in the
country stands higher."

He then went on to say that one would have
thought by my answer that my proposed host had
had jaundice or pleurisy, and that I was in fear of
infection.

" I am not much afraid of infection," said I, rather
grimly, u but I have some regard for my character ;
and if I know a man to be an embezzler of other
people's money, be sure of it, I will give him as wide
a berth as I can. If he were ill or poor "

" 111 or poor ! " interrupted the interpreter, with a
face of great alarm. " So that's your notion of pro-
priety ! You would consort with the basest criminals,
and yet deem simple embezzlement a bar to friendly
intercourse. -I cannot understand you."

" But I am poor myself," cried I.

" You were" said he ; " and you were liable to be
severely punished for it, — indeed, at the council which
was held concerning you, this fact was very nearly
consigning you to what I should myself consider a
well-deserved chastisement " (for he was getting
angry, and so was I) ; " but the queen was so in-

74

ERE WHO N.

quisitive, and wanted so much to see you, that she
petitioned the king, and made him give you his
pardon, and assign you a pension in consideration of
your ignorance of the law and your excellent physique.
It is lucky for you that he has not heard what you
have been saying now, or he would be sure to cancel
it."

As I heard these words, my heart sank within me.
I felt the extreme difficulty of my position, and how
unwise it would be for me to run counter to prevailing
prejudices, however revolting they might be to me.
I remained silent for several minutes ; then, having
got myself under control, I said that I fancied I had
made a mistake, and that I should be very happy to
accept the embezzler's invitation, — on which my in-
structor brightened, and said I was a sensible fellow.
But I felt very uncomfortable. When he had left the
room, I mused over the conversation which had just
taken place between us, but I could make nothing out
of it, except that it argued an even greater perversity
of mental vision than I had* been yet prepared for.
And this made me wretched ; for I cannot bear having
much to do with people who think differently from
myself. All sorts of wandering thoughts kept com-
ing into my head. I thought of my master's hut, and
my seat upon the mountain side, where I had first
conceived the insane idea of exploring. What years
and years seemed to have passed since I had begun
my journey !

I thought of my adventures in the gorge, and on
the journey hither, and of Chowbok. I wondered what
Chowbok told them about me when he got back, — he
had done well in going back, Chowbok had. He

TO THE METROPOLIS.

75

was not handsome — nay, he was hideous; and it
would have gone hardly with him. Twilight drew on,
and rain pattered against the windows. Never yet in
my life had I felt so unhappy, except during three days
of sea-sickness at the beginning of my voyage from
England. I sat musing and in great melancholy,
until Yram made her appearance with light and
supper. She too, poor girl, was miserable; for she
had heard that I was to leave them. She had made
up her mind that I was to remain always in the town,
even after my imprisonment was over ; and I fancy,
had resolved to marry me, though I had never so much
as hinted at her doing so. So, what with the distress-
ingly strange conversation with my teacher, my own
friendless condition, and Yram's melancholy, I felt
more unhappy than I can describe, and remained so
till I got to bed, and sleep sealed my eyelids.

On awaking next morning I was much better. It
was settled that I was to make my start in a convey-
ance which was to be in waiting for me at about
eleven o'clock ; and the anticipation of change put
me in good spirits, which even the tearful face of
Yram could hardly altogether derange. I kissed her
again and again, assured her that we should meet
hereafter, and that in the meanwhile I should be ever
mindful of her kindness. I gave her two of the
buttons off my coat and a lock of my hair as a keep- ,
sake, taking a goodly curl from her own beautiful
head in return : and so, having said good-bye a hun-
dred times, till I was fairly overcome with her great
sweetness and her sorrow, I tore myself away from
her, and got down-stairs to the caleche which was in
waiting. How thankful I was when it was all over,

76

EREWHON.

and I was driven away and out of sight. Would that
I could have felt that it was out of mind also ! Pray
heaven that it is so now, aud that she is married
happily among her own people, and has forgotten
me !

And now began a long and tedious journey, with
which I should hardly trouble the reader if I could.
He is safe, however, for the simple reason that I was
blindfolded during the greater part of the time. A
bandage was put upon my eyes every morning, and
was only removed at night when I reached the inn
at which we were to pass the night. We travelled
slowly, although the roads were good. We drove but
one horse, which took us our day's journey from
morning till evening, about six hours, exclusive of two
hours' rest in the middle of the day. I do not sup-
pose we made above thirty or thirty-five miles on an
average. Each day we had a fresh horse. As I have
said already, I could see nothing of the country. I
can only say that it was level, and that several times
we had to cross large rivers in ferry-boats. The inns
were clean and comfortable. In one or two of the
larger towns they were quite sumptuous, and the food
was good and well-cooked. The same wonderful
health and grace and beauty prevailed everywhere.

I found myself to be an object of great interest ; so
much so, that the driver told me he had to keep our
route secret, and at times go to places that were not
directly on our road, in order to avoid the press that
would otherwise have awaited us. Every evening I
had a reception, and grew heartily tired of having to
say the same things over and over again in answer to
the same questions, but it was quite impossible to be

TO THE METROPOLIS.

17

angry with, guests whose manners were so delightful.
They never once asked after my health, or even
whether I was fatigued with my journey ; but their
first question was almost invariably an inquiry after
my temper, the naivete of which astonished me till I
became used to it. One day. being tired and cold,
and weary of saying the same thing over and over
again, I turned a little brusquely on my questioner,
and said that I was exceedingly cross, and that, in
fact, I could hardly feel in a worse humour with
myself and every one else than at that moment. To
my surprise, I was met with the kindest expressions
of condolence, and heard it buzzed about the room
that I was in an ill temper ; whereon people began
to give me nice things to smell and to eat, which
really did seem to have some temper -mending quality
about them, for I soon felt pleased, and was at once
congratulated upon being better. The next morning
two or three people sent their servants to the hotel
with sweetmeats, and inquiries whether I had quite
recovered from my ill humour. On receiving the good
things, I felt in half a mind to be ill-tempered every
evening ; but I disliked the condolences and the
inquiries, and found it most comfortable to keep my
natural temper, which is smooth enough generally.

Among those who came to visit me were some who
had received a liberal education at the Colleges of
Unreason, and taken the highest degrees in hypo-
thetics, which are their principal study. These gentle-
men had now settled down to various employments in
the country, as straighteners, managers and cashiers
of the musical banks, priests of religion, or what not ;
and carrying their education with them, they diffused a

78

EREWHON.

leaven of culture throughout the country. I naturally
questioned them about many of the things which had
puzzled me since my arrival. I inquired what was
the object and meaning of the statues which I had
seen upon the plateau of the pass. I was told that
they dated from an exceedingly remote period, and that
there were several other such groups in the country,
but none so remarkable as the one which I had seen.
They had a religious origin, having been designed
to propitiate the gods of deformity and disease. In
former times it had been the custom to make expedi-
tions over the ranges, and capture the ugliest of
Chowbok's ancestors whom they could find, in order
to sacrifice them in the presence of these deities, and
thus avert ugliness and disease. from the Erewhonians
themselves. It had been whispered (but my informant
assured me untruly) that at a remote period they had
even offered up some of their own people who were
ugly or out of health, in order to make examples of
them. These detestable customs, however, had been
long discontinued; neither was thore any present
observance of the statues, save a yearly procession
round them, which was still continued, but without
sacrifices, and rather from habit than from any super-
stitious feeling. I had the curiosity to inquire what
would be done to any of Chowbok's tribe if they
crossed over into Erewhon. I was told that nobody
knew, inasmuch as such a thing had not happened
for centuries. They would be too ugly to be allowed
to go at large, but not so much so as to be criminally
liable. Their offence in having come would be a
moral one; but they would be beyond the straightener's
art. Possibly they would be consigned to the Hospital

TO THE METROPOLIS.

79

for Incurable Bores, and made to work at being- bored
for so many hours a day ; in fact, that they would
be kept as professional borees. When I heard this,
it occurred to me that some rumours of its substance
might perhaps have become current among Chowbok's
people ; for the agony of his fear had been too great
to have been inspired hy the mere dread of being
burnt alive before the statues.

I also questioned them about the museum of old
machines, and the cause of the apparent retrogression
in all arts, sciences, and inventions. I learnt that
about four hundred years previously, the state of
mechanical knowledge was far beyond our own, and
was advancing with prodigious rapidity, until one
of the most learned professors of hypothetics wrote an
extraordinary book (from which I propose to give
extracts later on), proving that the machines were
ultimately destined to supplant the race of man, and
to become instinct with a vitality as different from
and superior to that of animals, as animal to veget-
able life. So convincing was his reasoning (or un-
reasoning) to this effect, that he carried the whole
country with him ; and they made a clean sweep of
all machinery that had not been in use for more than
two hundred and seventy-one years (which period
was arrived at after a series of compromises), and
strictly forbade all further improvements and inven-
tions under pain of being considered in the eye of
the law to be labouring under typhus fever, which, in
their eyes, is one of the worst of all crimes.

This is the only case in which they have confounded
mental and physical diseases, and they do it even
here as by an avowed legal fiction. I became uneasy

8o

ERE WHO <M

when I remembered about my watch ; but they com-
forted me with the assurance that transgression in this
matter was now so unheard of, that the law could
afford to be lenient towards an utter stranger,
especially towards one who had such a good char-
acter (they meant physique), and such beautiful
light hair. Moreover the watch was a real curiosity,
and would be a welcome addition to the metropolitan
collection ; so they did not think that I need let it
trouble me seriously.

I will write, however, more fully upon this subject
when I deal with the Colleges of Unreason, and the
Book of the Machines.

In about a month from the time of our starting I
was told that our journey was nearly over. The
bandage was now dispensed with, it being considered
impossible that I should ever be able to find my way
back without being captured. Then we rolled merrily
along through the streets of a handsome town, and
got on to a long, broad, and level road, with poplar
trees on either side. The road was raised slightly
above the surrounding country, and had formerly
been a railway ; the fields on either side were in the
highest conceivable cultivation, and were now bursting
into life under the advancing spring. The weather
had got warmer more rapidly than could be quite
accounted for by the progress of the season ; so I felt
sure that we must have been making towards the sun,
and were some, degrees nearer the equator than when
we started ; for the spring was earlier, and the vege-
tation more southern than even that of France. Yet
there seemed no lack of vigour among the people ;
on the contrary, they were a very hardy race, and

TO THE METROPOLIS. 8i

capable of great endurance. For the hundredth time
I thought that, take them all round, I had never seen
their equals ; no, not in Italy itself, nor among our
own choicest, for quiet self-contained good-breeding
and easy courtesy. The flowers by the wayside were
lovely, especially those of the narcissus, of which for the
last fortnight I had had bundles and bundles offered
me ; but I was told that there would be other flowers
still lovelier later on. The birds were plentiful and
much as in Europe, but not tame as they had been
on the other side the ranges. They were shot at with
the cross-bow and with arrows, gunpowder being
unknown, or at any rate not in use.

We were now nearing the metropolis and I could
see great towers and fortifications, and lofty buildings
that looked like palaces. I began to be nervous as to
my reception ; but I had got on very well so far, and
resolved to continue upon the same plan as hitherto —
namely, to behave just as though I were in England
until I saw that I was making a blunder, and then to
say nothing till I could gather how the land lay. We
drew nearer and nearer. The news of my approach
had got abroad, and there was a great crowd collected
on either side the road, who greeted me with marks
of most respectful curiosity, keeping me bowing con-
stantly in acknowledgment from side to side. When
we were about a mile off, we were met by the mayor and
several councillors, among whom was a venerable old
man, who was introduced to me by the mayor (for so
I suppose I should call him) as the gentleman who
had invited me to his house. I bowed deeply and
told him how grateful I felt to him, and how gladly
I would accept his hospitality. He forbade me to say

82

ERE WHO N,

more, and pointing to his carriage, which was close at
hand, he motioned me to a seat therein. I again
bowed profoundly to the mayor and councillors, and
drove off with my entertainer, whose name was Senoj
Nosnibor. After about half a mile the carriage turned
off the main road, and we drove under the walls of
the town till we reached a palazzo on a slight
eminence, and just on the outskirts of the city. This
was Senoj Nosnibor's house, and nothing can be
imagined finer. It was situated near the magnificent
and venerable ruins of the old railway station, which
formed an imposing feature from the gardens of the
house. The grounds, some ten or a dozen acres in
extent, were laid out in terraced gardens, one above
the other, with flights of broad steps ascending and
descending the declivity of the garden. On these steps
there were statues of most exquisite workmanship.
Besides the statues there were vases filled with beauti-
ful bulbous flowers that were now coming into
blossom ; and on either side the staircases there were
rows of huge old cypresses and cedars, with grassy
alleys beneath them. Then came choice vineyards
and orchards of fruit-trees which were unknown to
me, and which were not yet in leaf. The house was
approached by a court-yard, and round it was a corridor
on to which rooms opened, as at Pompeii. In the
middle of the court there was a bath and a fountain.
Having passed the court we came to the main body
of the house, which was two stories in height. The
rooms were large and lofty; perhaps at first they
looked rather bare of furniture, but this was an advan-
tage later on, when the weather became hot. I
missed also the sight of a grand piano or some

TO THE METROPOLIS.

83

similar instrument, there being no means of pro-
ducing music in any of the rooms save the chief
saloon, where there were half a dozen large brass
gongs, which the ladies used occasionally to beat
about at random. It was not pleasant to hear them,
but I have heard quite as unpleasant music both
before and since.

Mr JSTosnibor took me through several spacious
rooms till we reached a boudoir where were his
wife and daughters, of whom I had heard from the
interpreter. Mrs ISTosnibor was about forty years old,
and still handsome, but she had grown very stout:
her daughters were in the prime of youth and exqui-
sitely beautiful. I gave the preference almost at
once to the younger, whose name was Arowhena ; for
the elder sister was haughty while the younger had a
very winning manner. Mrs Nosnibor received me
with the perfection of courtesy, so that I must have
indeed been shy and nervous if I had not at once felt
welcome. Scarcely was the ceremony of my intro-
duction well completed before a servant announced
that dinner was ready in the next room. I was ex-
ceedingly hungry and the dinner was beyond all
praise. Can the reader wonder that I began to con-
sider myself in excellent quarters? " That man
embezzle money ? " thought I to myself ; " im-
possible."

But I noticed that my host was uneasy during the
whole meal, and towards the end of it there came a tall
lean man with a black beard, to whom Mr Nosnibor and
the whole family paid great attention : he was the
family straightener. With this gentleman Mr Nos-
nibor retired into another room, from which there

84

ERE WHO N.

presently proceeded a sound of weeping and wailing-.
I could hardly believe my ears, but in a few minutes
I got to know for a certainty that they came from Mr
Nosnibor himself.

" Poor papa," said Arowhena, as she helped her-
self composedly to the salt, " how terribly he has
suffered."

" Yes,," answered her mother ; " but I think he is
quite out of danger now."

Then they went on to explain to me the circum-
stances of the case, and the treatment which the
straightener had prescribed and how successful he
had been — all which I will reserve for another
chapter, and put rather in the form of a general
summary of the opinions current upon these subjects
than in the exact form in which the facts were
delivered to me. I also propose to give certain other
Erewhonian views of things in general, which I shall
never arrive at if I do not hurry on a little faster.

CHAPTER X,

CUKRENT OPINIONS.

rpHIS is what I gathered. That in that country if a
man falls into ill health, or catches any disorder,
or fails bodily in any way before he is seventy years
old, he is tried before a jury of his countrymen, and
if convicted is held up to public scorn and sentenced
more or less severely as the case may be. There are
subdivisions of illnesses into crimes and misdemeanours
as with offences amongst ourselves — a man being
punished very heavily for serious illness, while failure
of eyes or hearing in one over sixty-five who has had
good health hitherto is dealt with by fine only, or
imprisonment in default of payment. But if a man
forges a cheque, or sets his house on fire, or robs with
violence from the person, or does any other such things
as are criminal in our own country, he is either taken
to a hospital, and most carefully tended at the public
expense, or if he is in good circumstances, he lets it be
known to all his friends that he is indisposed, just
as we do when we are ill, and they come and visit him
with great solicitude, and inquire with interest how it
all came about, what symptoms first showed themselves,
and so forth, — questions which he will answer with
perfect unreserve ; for bad conduct, though considered
no less deplorable than illness with ourselves, and as

86

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unquestionably indicating something seriously wrong
with the individual who misbehaves, is nevertheless
held to be the result of either pre-natal or post-natal
misfortune. I should add that under certain circum-
stances poverty is considered criminal.

Accordingly, there exists a class of men trained in
soul-craft, whom they call straighteners, as nearly as I
can translate a word which literally means " one who
bendeth back the crooked." These men practise
much as medical men in England, and receive a
quasi -surreptitious fee on every visit. They are
treated with the same unreserve and obeyed just as
readily as our own doctors — that is to say, on the
whole sufficiently — because people know that it is their
interest to get well as soon as they can, and that they
will not be scouted as they' would be if their bodies
were out of order, even though they may have to
undergo a very painful course of treatment.

When I say that they will not be scouted, I do not
mean that an Erewhonian offender will suffer no
manner of social inconvenience. Friends will fall
away from him because of his being less pleasant
company, just as we ourselves are disinclined to make
companions of those who are either poor or poorly,
having a right to choose (and being right in choosing)
that company which most pleases us, and in avoid-
ing that which we dislike. No one with any sense of
self-respect will place himself on an equality in
the matter of affection with those who are less
lucky than himself in birth, health, money, good looks,
capacity, or anything else. Indeed, that dislike and
even disgust should be felt by the fortunate for the
unfortunate, or at any rate for those who have been dis-

CURRENT OPINIONS.

87

covered to have met with any of the more serious and
less familiar misfortunes, is not only natural, but de-
sirable for any society, whether of man or brute. The
fact therefore that the Erewhonians attach none of
that guilt to crime which they do to physical ailments,
does not prevent the more selfish among them from
neglecting a friend who has robbed a bank, for in-
stance, till he has fully recovered ; but it does prevent
them from even thinking of treating criminals with
that contemptuous tone which would seem to say, " I,
if I were you, should be a better man than you are," a
tone which is held quite reasonable in regard to phy-
sical ailment. Hence, though they conceal ill health
by every cunning and hypocrisy and artifice which they
can devise, they are quite open about the most flagrant
mental diseases, should they happen to exist, which
to do the people justice is not often. Indeed, there
are some who are, so to speak, spiritual valetudina-
rians, and who make themselves exceedingly ridiculous
by their nervous supposition that they are wicked,
while they are very tolerable people all the time.
This however is exceptional; and on the whole they
use much the same reserve or unreserve about the
state of their moral welfare as we do about our
health.

Hence it had come that all the ordinary greetings
among ourselves, such as, How do you do ? and the
like, were considered signs of gross ill-breeding; nor
did the politer classes tolerate even such a common
complimentary remark as telling a man that he was
looking well. They salute each other with, " I hope
you are good this morning; " or, " I hope jtou have
recovered from the snappishness from which you were

88

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suffering when I last saw yon;" and if the person
saluted has not been good, or is still snappish, he
says so at once and is condoled with accordingly.
Nay, the straighteners have gone so far as to give
names from the hypothetical language (as taught at the
Colleges of Unreason), to all known forms of mental
indisposition, and to classify them according to a
system of their own, which, though I could not
understand it, seemed to work well in practice, for
they are always able to tell a man what is the matter
with him as soon as they have heard his story, and
their familiarity with the long names assures him
that they thoroughly understand his case.

Of genius they take no account, regarding it much
in the same way as we do good looks in men — that
is to say as more or less pleasant to meet with but
of no importance.

In spite of all this they have a keen sense of the
enjoyment consequent upon what they call being
"well." They admire mental health and love it in
other people, and take all the pains they can (con-
sistently with their other duties) to secure it for them-
selves. They have an extreme dislike to marrying
into what they consider unhealthy families. They
send for the straightener at once whenever they have
been guilty of anything seriously flagitious — -often
even if they think that they are on the point of com-
mitting it ; and though his remedies are sometimes
exceedingly painful, involving close confinement for
weeks and in some cases the most cruel physical
tortures, I never heard of a reasonable Erewhonian
refusing to do what his straightener told him, any
more than of a reasonable Englishman refusing to

CURRENT OPINIONS.

$9

undergo even the most frightful operation, if his doc-
tors told him it was necessary.

We in England never shrink from telling our
doctor what is the matter with us merely through the
fear that he will hurt us. We let him do his worst
upon us, and stand it without a murmur, because we
are not scouted for being ill, and because we know
that the doctor is doing his best to cure us, and that
he can judge of our case better than we can ; but we
should conceal all illness if we were treated as the
Erewhonians are when they have anything the matter
with them; we should do the same as with moral
and intellectual diseases, — we should feign health
with the most consummate art, till we were found
out, and should hate a single flogging given in the
way of mere punishment more than the amputation
of a limb, if it were kindly and courteously per-
formed with a view to help us out of our difficulty,
and with the full consciousness' on the part of the
doctor that it was only by an accident of constitution
that he was not in the like plight himself. So the
Erewhonians take a flogging once a week, and a diet
of bread and water for two or three months together,
whenever their straightener recommends it.

I do not suppose that even my host, on having
swindled a confiding widow out of the whole of her
property, was put to more actual suffering than a man
will readily undergo at the hands of an English doctor.
And yet he must have had a very bad time of it.
The sounds I heard were sufficient to show that his
pain was exquisite, but he never shrank from under-
going it. He was quite sure that it did him good ;
and I think he was right. I cannot believe that that

90

EREWHON.

man will ever embezzle money again. He may — but
it will be a long time before lie does so.

During my confinement in prison, and on my
journey, I had already discovered a great deal of the
above; but it still seemed surpassingly strange, and
I was in constant fear of committing some piece of
rudeness from my inability to look at things from
the same stand-point as my neighbours ; but after a
few weeks' stay with the Nosnibors I got to under-
stand things better, especially on having heard all
about my host's illness, of which he told me fully and
repeatedly.

It seemed that he had been on the Stock Exchange
of the city for many years and had amassed enormous
wealth, without exceeding the limits of what was
generally considered justifiable or at any rate per-
missible dealing; but that at length on several
occasions he had become aware of a desire to make
money by fraudulent representations, and had actually
dealt with two or three sums in a way which had
made him rather uncomfortable. He had unfortu-
nately made light of it and pooh-poohed the ailment,
until circumstances eventually presented themselves
which enabled him to cheat upon a very considerable
scale; — he told me what they were, and they were
about as bad as anything could be, but I need not
detail them ; — he seized the opportunity, and became
aware when it was too late that he must be seri-
ously out of order. He had neglected himself too
long.

He drove home at once, broke the news to his wife
and daughters as gently as he could, and sent off for
one of the most celebrated straighteners of the king-

CURRENT OPINIONS.

91

dom to a consultation with the family practitioner,
for the case was plainly serious. On the arrival of
the straightener he told his story, and expressed his
fear that his morals must be permanently impaired.

The eminent man reassured him with a few cheering
words, and then proceeded to make a more careful
diagnosis of the case. He enquired concerning
Nosnibor's parents — had their moral health been
good ? He was answered that there had not been any-
thing seriously amiss with them, but that his maternal
grandfather, whom he was supposed to resemble some-
what in person, had been a consummate scoundrel and
had ended his days in a hospital, — while a brother
of his father's, after having led a most flagitious life
for many years, had been at last cured by a phil-
osopher of a new school, which as far as I could
understand it bore much the same relation to the old as
homoeopathy to allopathy. The straightener shook his
head at this, and laughingly replied that the cure must
have been due to nature. After a few more questions
he wrote a prescription and departed.

I saw the prescription. It ordered a fine to the
State of double the money embezzled: no food but
bread and milk for six months, and a severe
flogging once a month for twelve. He had received
his eleventh flogging on the day of my arrival. I saw
him later on the same afternoon, and he was still
twinged ; but there had been no escape from following
out the straightener's prescription, for the so-called
sanitary laws of Erewhon are very rigorous, and unless
the straightener was satisfied that his orders had been
obeyed, the patient would have been taken to a
hospital (as the poor are), and would have been much

1

92

ERE WHO N.

worse off — such at least is tlie law, "but it is never
necessary to enforce it.

On a subsequent occasion I was present at an inter-
view between Mr Nosnibor and the family straightener,
who was considered competent to watch the comple-
tion of the cure. I was struck with the delicacy
with which he avoided even the remotest semblance
of inquiry after the physical well-being of his patient,
though there was a certain yellowness about my
host's eyes which argued a bilious habit of body.
To have taken notice of this would have been a gross
breach of professional etiquette. I am told that
a straightener sometimes thinks it right to glance
at the possibility of some slight physical disorder
if he finds it important in order to assist him in
his diagnosis ; but the answers which he gets are
generally untrue or evasive, and he forms his own
conclusions upon the matter as well as he can. Sen-
sible men have been known to say that the straightener
should in strict confidence be told of every physical
ailment that is likely to bear upon the case; but people
are naturally shy of doing this, for they do not like
lowering themselves in the opinion of the straightener,
and his ignorance of medical science is supreme. I
heard of one lady however who had the hardihood to
confess that a furious outbreak of ill-humour and ex-
travagant fancies for which she was seeking advice
was possibly the result of indisposition. " You
should resist that," said the straightener, in a kind,
but grave voice: " we can do nothing for the bodies of
our patients; such matters are beyond our province,
and I desire that I may hear no further particulars."
The lady burst into tears, promised faithfully that

CURRENT OPINIONS. 93

she would never be unwell again, and kept her
word.

To return however to Mr Hosnibor. As the after-
noon wore on many carriages drove up with callers to
inquire how he had stood his flogging. It had been
very severe, but the kind inquiries upon every side
gave him great comfort, and he assured me that he
felt almost tempted to do wrong again by the solici-
tude with which his friends had treated him during
his recovery : in this I need hardly say that he was
not serious.

During the remainder of my stay in the country
Mr Nosnibor was constantly attentive to his business,
and largely increased his already great possessions ;
but I never heard a whisper to the effect of his having
been indisposed a second time, or made money by
other than the most strictly honourable means. I
did hear afterwards in confidence that there had been
reason to believe that his health had been much
affected during the straightener's treatment, but his
friends did not choose to be over curious upon the
subject, and on his return to his affairs it was by
common consent passed over as hardly criminal in one
who was otherwise so much afflicted. For they regard
bodily ailments as the more venial in proportion as
they have been produced by causes independent of the
constitution. Thus if a person ruin his health by
excessive indulgence at the table, or by drinking, they
count it to be almost a part of the mental disease which
brought it about, and so it goes for little ; but they
have no mercy on such illnesses as fevers or catarrhs
or lung diseases, which to us appear to be beyond the

94

ERE WHOM

control of the individual. They are only more lenient
towards the diseases of the young — such as measles,
which they think to be like sowing one's wild oats —
and look over them as pardonable indiscretions if they
have not been too serious, and if they are atoned for
by complete subsequent recovery.

CHAPTER XI.

AN EREWEONIAN TRIAL.

T)UT I shall perhaps best convey to the reader an
idea of the entire perversion of thought which
exists among this extraordinary people, by describing
the public trial of a man who was accused of pulmonary
consumption— an offence which was punished with
death until quite recently. It did not occur till I had
been some months in the country, and I am deviating
from chronological order in giving it here ; but I had
perhaps better do so in order that I may exhaust this
subject before proceeding to others. Moreover I should
never come to an end were I to keep to a strictly narra-
tive form, and detail the infinite absurdities with which
I came daily in contact.

The prisoner was placedin the dock, and the jury were
sworn much as in Europe : almost all our own modes
of procedure were reproduced, even to the requiring
the prisoner to plead guilty or not guilty. He pleaded
not guilty and the case proceeded. The evidence for
the prosecution was very strong ; but I must do the
court the justice to observe that the trial was absolutely
impartial. Counsel for the prisoner was allowed to
urge everything that could be said in his defence : the
line taken was that the prisoner was simulating con-
sumption in order to defraud an insurance company,

96

EREWHON.

from which he was ahont to buy an annuity, and that
he hoped thus to obtain it on more advantageous
terms. If this could have been shown to be the case
he would have escaped a criminal prosecution, and
been sent to a hospital as for a moral ailment. The
view however was one which could not be reasonably
sustained, in spite of all the ingenuity and eloquence
of one of the most celebrated advocates of the country.
The case was only too clear, for the prisoner was
almost at the point of death, and it was astonishing
that he had not been tried and convicted long pre-
viously. His coughing was incessant during the
whole trial, and it was all that the two surgeons in
charge of him could do to keep him on his legs until
it was over. The summing up of the judge was admir-
able. He dwelt upon every point that could be con-
strued in favour of the prisoner, but as he proceeded
it became clear that the evidence was too convincing
to admit of doubt, and there was but one opinion in
the court as to the impending verdict when the jury
retired from the box. They were absent for about ten
minutes, and on their return the foreman pronounced
the prisoner guilty. There was a faint murmur of
applause but it was instantly repressed. The judge
then proceeded to pronounce sentence in words which
lean never forget, and which I copied out into a note-
book next day from the report that was published in the
leading newspaper. I must condense it somewhat,
and nothing which I could say would give more than
a faint idea of the solemn, not to say majestic, severity
with which it was delivered. The sentence was as
follows : — ■

" Prisoner at the bar, you have been accused of the

AN EREWHONIAN TRIAL.

97

great crime of labouring under pulmonary consump-
tion, and after an impartial trial before a jury of your
countrymen, you have been found guilty. Against
the justice of the verdict I can say nothing • the
evidence against you was conclusive ; and it only
remains for me to pass such a sentence upon you, as
shall satisfy the ends of the law. That sentence must
be a very severe one. It pains me much to see one
who is yet so young, and whose prospects in life were
otherwise so excellent, brought to this distressing
condition by a constitution which I can only regard
as radically vicious ; but yours is no case for compas-
sion : this is not your first offence : you have led a
career of crime, and have only profited by the leniency
shown you upon past occasions, to offend yet more
seriously against the laws and institutions of your
country. You were convicted of aggravated bronchitis
last year : and I find that though you are now only
twenty-three years old, you have been imprisoned on
no less than fourteen occasions for illnesses of a more
or less hateful character ; in fact, it is not too much
to say that you have spent the greater part of your
life in a jail. It is all very well for you to say that
you came of unhealthy parents, and had a severe
accident in your childhood which permanently under-
mined your constitution ; excuses such as these are
the ordinary refuge of the criminal ; but they cannot
for one moment be listened to by the ear of justice. I
am not here to enter upon curious metaphysical
questions as to the origin of this or that — questions to
which there would be no end were their introduction
once tolerated, and which would result in throwing
the only guilt on the tissues of the primordial cell,

Gr

9§

EREWHON.

or on the elementary gases. There is no question of
how you carne to be wicked, but only this — namely,
are you wicked or not ? This has been decided in the
affirmative, neither can I hesitate for a single moment
to say that it has been decided justly. You are a bad
and dangerous person, and stand branded in the eyes
of your fellow-countrymen with one of the most
heinous known offences.

" It is not my business to justify the law : the law
may in some cases have its inevitable hardships, and I
may feel regret at times that I have not the option of
passing a less severe sentence than I am compelled to
do. But yours is no such case ; on the contrary, had
not the capital punishment for consumption been
abolished, I should certainly inflict it now.

" It is intolerable that an example of such terrible
enormity should be allowed to go at large unpunished.
Your presence in the society of respectable people
would lead the less able-bodied to think more lightly
of all forms of illness ; neither can it be permitted
that you should have the chance of corrupting unborn
beings who might hereafter pester you. The unborn
must not be allowed to come near you : and this not
so much for their protection (for they are our natural
enemies), as for our own ; for since they will not be
utterly gainsaid, it must be seen to that they shall be
quartered upon those who are least likely to corrupt
them.

" But independently of this consideration, and inde-
pendently of the physical guilt which attaches itself to
a crime so great as yours, there is yet another reason
why we should be unable to show you mercy, even if
we were inclined to do so. I refer to the existence of

AN ERE WH ONI AN TRIAL.

99

a class of men who lie hidden among us, and who are
called physicians. Were the severity of the law or
the current feeling of the country to be relaxed never
so slightly, these abandoned persons, who are now
compelled to practise secretly and who can be con-
sulted only at the greatest risk, would become frequent
visitors in every household; their organisation and
their intimate acquaintance with all family secrets
would give them a power, both social and political,
which nothing could resist. The head of the household
would become subordinate to the family doctor, who
would interfere between man and wife, between master
and servant, until the doctors should be the only
depositaries of power in the nation, and have all that
we hold precious at their mercy. A time of universal
dephysicalisation would ensue; medicine-vendors of
all kinds would abound in our streets and advertise
in all our newspapers. There is one remedy for this,
and one only. It is that which the laws of this
country have long received and acted upon, and consists
in the sternest repression of all diseases whatsoever, as
soon as their existence is made manifest to the eye
of the law. Would that that eye were far more piercing
than it is.

" But I will enlarge no further upon things that are
themselves so obvious. You may say that it is not
your fault. The answer is ready enough at hand, and
it amounts to this — that if you had been born of
healthy and well-to-do parents, and been well taken
care of when you were a child, you would never have
offended against the laws of your country, nor found
yourself in your present disgraceful position. If you
tell me that you had no hand in your parentage and

IOO

EREWHON.

education, and that it is therefore unjust to lay these
things to your charge, I answer that whether your
being in a consumption is your fault or no, it is a
fault in you, and it is my duty to see that against
such faults as this the commonwealth shall be pro-
tected. You may say that it is your misfortune to
have been criminal ; I answer that it is your crime to
have been unfortunate.

ce I do not hesitate therefore to sentence you to im-
prisonment, with hard labour, for the rest of your
miserable existence. During that period I would
earnestly entreat you to repent of the wrongs you
have done already, and to entirely reform the constitu-
tion of your whole body. I entertain but little hope
that you will pay attention to my advice ; you are
already far too abandoned. Did it rest with myself,
I should add nothing in mitigation of the sentence
which I have passed, but it is the merciful provision of
the law that even the most hardened criminal shall be
allowed some one of the three official remedies, which
is to be prescribed at the time of his conviction. I
shall therefore order that you receive two tablespoon-
fuls of castor oil daily, until the pleasure of the
court be further known."

When the sentence was concluded, the prisoner
acknowledged in a few scarcely audible words that
he was justly punished, and that he had had a fair
trial. He was then removed to the prison from which
he was never to return. There was a second attempt
at applause when the judge had finished speaking, but
as before it was at once repressed ; and though the
feeling of the court was strongly against the prisoner,
there was no show of any violence against him, if one

AN EREWHONIAN TRIAL.

ior

may except a little hooting from the bystanders when
he was being removed in the prisoners' van. Indeed,
nothing struck me more during my whole sojourn in
the country, than the general respect for law and
order.

CHAPTER XIL

MALCONTENTS.

T CONFESS that I felt rather unhappy when I got
home, and thought more closely over the trial
that I had just witnessed. For the time I was carried
away by the opinion of those among whom I was.
They had no misgivings about what they were doing.
There did not seem to be a person in the whole court
who had the smallest doubt but that all was exactly as
it should be. This universal unsuspecting confidence
was imparted by sympathy to myself, in spite of all
my training in opinions so widely different. So it is
with most of us : that which we observe to be taken
as a matter of course by those around us, we take as
a matter of course ourselves. And after all, it is our
duty to do this, save upon grave occasion.

But when I was alone, and began to think the trial
over, it certainly did strike me as betraying a strange
and untenable position. Had the judge said that he
acknowledged the probable truth, namely, that the
prisoner was born of unhealthy parents, or had been
starved in infancy, or had met with some accidents
which had developed consumption ; and had he then
gone on to say that though he knew all this, and
bitterly regretted that the protection of society obliged
him to inflict additional pain on one who had suffered

MALCONTENTS.

103

so much already, yet that there was no help for it, I
could have understood the position, however mistaken
I might have thought it. The judge was fully persuaded
that the infliction of pain upon the weak and sickly
was the only means of preventing weakness and sickli-
ness from spreading, and that ten times the suffering
now inflicted upon the accused was eventually warded
off from others by the present apparent severity. I
could therefore perfectly understand his inflicting
whatever pain he might consider necessary in order to
prevent so bad an example from spreading further
and lowering the Erewhonian standard; but it seemed
almost childish to tell the prisoner that he could have
been in good health, if he had been more fortunate
in his constitution, and been exposed to less hardships
when he was a child.

I write with great diffidence, but it seems to me
that there is no unfairness in punishing people for
their misfortunes, or rewarding them for their sheer
good luck : it is the normal condition of human life
that this should be done, and no right-minded person
will complain at being subjected to the common treat-
ment. If a man to whom time is a matter involvino-
the utmost loss conies from the West Indies in a
ship with yellow fever, even in England we imprison
him in quarantine on his arrival, no matter how much
money he may lose. He must take his chance as other
people do ; but surely it would be desperate unkind-
ness to add contumely to our self-protection.

We kill a serpent if we go in danger by it, simply
for being such and such a serpent in such and such a
place ; but we never say that the serpent has only
itself to blame for not having been a harmless creature.

104

ERE WHO

Its crime is that of being the thing which it is : hut
this is a capital offence, and we are right in killing
it out of the way, unless we think it more dangerous
to do so than to let it escape ; nevertheless we pity the
creature, even though we kill it.

But in the case of him whose trial I have described
above, it was impossible that any one in the court
should not have known that it was but by an accident
of birth and circumstances that he was not himself
also in a consumption ; and yet none thought that it
disgraced them to hear the judge give vent to the
most cruel truisms about him. The judge himself was
a kind and thoughtful person. He was a man of
magnificent and benign presence. He was evidently
of an iron constitution, and his face wore an expression
of the maturest wisdom and experience ; yet for all
this, old and learned as he was, he could not see things
which one would have thought would have been
apparent even to a child. He could not emancipate
himself from, nay, it did not even occur to him to feel,
the bondage of the ideas in which he had been born
and bred. So was it with the jury and bystanders ;
and — most wonderful of all — so was it even with the
prisoner. Throughout he seemed fully impressed with
the notion that he was being dealt with justly : he
saw nothing wanton in his being told by the judge
that he was to be punished, not so much as a neces-
sary protection to society (although this was not
entirely lost sight of), as because he had not been
better born and bred than he was. But this led me
to hope that he suffered less than he would have done
if he had seen the matter in the same light that
I did.

MALCONTENTS.

105

I may here mention that only a few years before my
arrival in the country, the treatment of all convicted
invalids had been much more barbarous than now;
for no physical remedy was provided, and prisoners
were pnt to the severest labour in all sorts of weather,
so that most of them soon snccumbed to the extreme
hardships which they suffered ; this was supposed to
be beneficial in some ways, inasmuch as it put the
country to less expense for the maintenance of its
criminal class ; but the growth of luxury had induced
a relaxation of the old severity, and a sensitive age
would no longer tolerate what appeared to be an
excess of rigour, even towards the most guilty ; more-
over, it was found that juries were less willing to
convict, and justice was often cheated because there
was no alternative between virtually condemning a
man to death and letting him go free ; it was also held
that the country paid in recommittals for its over-
severity ; for those who had been imprisoned even
for trifling ailments were often permanently disabled
by their imprisonment; and when a man had been
once convicted, it was probable that he would never
afterwards be long off the hands of the country.

These evils had long been apparent and recognised ;
yet people were too indolent, and too indifferent to
suffering not their own, to bestir themselves about
putting an end to them, until at last a benevolent re-
former devoted his whole life to effecting the necessary
changes. He divided all illnesses into three classes —
those affecting the head, the trunk, and the lower
limbs — and obtained an enactment that all diseases of
the head, whether internal or external, should be
treated with landanum, those of the body with castor-

106 EREWHON.

oil, and those of the lower limbs with an embrocation
of strong sulphuric acid and water. It may be said
that the classification was not sufficiently careful, and
that the remedies were ill chosen ; but it is a hard
thing to initiate any reform, and it was necessary to
familiarise the public mind with the principle, by
inserting the thin end of the wedge first : it is not
therefore to be wondered at that there should still be
some room for improvement. The mass of the nation
are well pleased with existing arrangements, and
believe that their treatment of criminals leaves little
or nothing to be desired ; but there is an energetic
minority who hold what are considered to be extreme
opinions, and who are not at all disposed to rest con-
tented until the principle lately admitted has been
carried further.

I was at some pains to discover the opinions of
these men, and their reasons for entertaining them.
They are held in great odium by the generality of the
public, and are considered as subverters of all morality
whatever, inasmuch as- they assert illness to be the
inevitable result of certain antecedent causes which
were beyond the control of the individual, and that
therefore a man is only guilty for being in a con-
sumption, in the same way as fruit is guilty for
being rotten; it is true, the fruit must be thrown
on one side as being unfit for man's use ; and the
man in a consumption must, in like manner, be put in
prison for the protection of his fellow-citizens ; but
these radicals would not punish him further than by
loss of liberty and a strict surveillance. So long as
he was prevented from injuring society, they would
allow him to make himself useful by supplying what-

MALCONTENTS.

107

ever of society's wants lie could supply. If lie suc-
ceeded in thus earning money, they would have him
made as comfortable in prison as possible, and would
in no way interfere with his liberty more than was
necessary to prevent him from escaping or from
becoming more severely indisposed within the prison
walls; but they would deduct from his earnings
the expenses of his board, lodging, surveillance, and
half those of his conviction. If he was too ill to do
anything for his support in prison, they would allow
him nothing but bread and water, and very little of
that. They say that society is foolish in refusing to
allow itself to be benefited by a man merely because
he has done it harm hitherto, and that objection to
the labour of the diseased classes is only protection
in another form. It is an attempt to raise the natu-
ral price of a commodity by saying that such and
such persons, who are able and willing to produce it,
shall not do so, whereby every one has to pay more
for it. Besides, so long as a man has not been ac-
tually killed he is our fellow-creature, though per-
haps a very unpleasant one. It is in a great degree
the doing of others that he is what he is, or in other
words, the society which now condemns him is partly
answerable concerning him. They say that there is
no fear of any increase of disease under these cir-
cumstances ; for the loss of liberty, the surveillance,
the considerable and compulsory deduction from
the prisoner's earnings, the very sparing use of sti-
mulants (of which they would allow but little to any,
and none to those who . did not earn them), the en-
forced celibacy, and above all, the loss of reputation
among friends3 are in their opinion as ample safe-

io8

EREWHON.

guards to society against a general neglect of health
as those now resorted to. A man therefore (so
they say) should carry his profession or trade into
prison with him if possible; if not, he must earn
his living by the nearest thing to it that he can;
but if he be a gentleman born and bred to no pro-
fession, he must pick oakum, or write art criticisms
for a newspaper.

These people say further, that the greater part
of the illness which exists in their country is brought
about by the insane manner in which it is treated.

They believe that illness is in many cases just
as curable as the moral diseases which they see daily
cured around them, but that a great reform is im-
possible till men learn to take a juster view of what
physical obliquity proceeds from. Men will hide their
illnesses as long as they are scouted on its becoming
known that they are ill ; it is the scouting, not the
physic, which produces the concealment ; and if a man
felt that the news of his being in ill-health would be
received by his neighbours as a deplorable fact, but
one as much the result of necessary antecedent causes
as though he had broken into a jeweller's shop and
stolen a valuable diamond necklace — as a fact which
might just as easily have happened to themselves, only
that they had the luck to be better born or reared ;
and if they also felt that they would not be made more
uncomfortable in the prison than the protection of
society against infection and the proper treatment of
their own disease actually demanded, men would
give themselves up to the police as readily on perceiv-
ing that they had taken small-pox, as they go now to
the straightener when they feel that they are on the

MALCONTENTS. 109

point of forging a will, or running away with some-
body else's wife.

But the main argument on which they rely is that
of economy ; for they know that they will sooner gain
their end by appealing to men's pockets, in which they
have generally something of their own, than to their
heads, which contain for the most part little but bor-
rowed or stolen property ; and after all, they believe
it to be the readiest test and the one which has most
to show for itself. If a course of conduct can be shown
to cost a country less, and this by no dishonourable
saving and with no indirectly increased expenditure
in other ways, they hold that it requires a good deal
to upset the arguments in favour of its being intro-
duced, and whether rightly or wrongly I cannot pre-
tend to say, they think that the more medicinal and
humane treatment of the diseased of which they
are the advocates would in the long run be much
cheaper to the country.

I have perhaps dwelt too long upon opinions which
can have no possible bearing upon our own, but I
have not said the tenth part of what these would-be
reformers urged upon me. I feel, however, that I
have sufficiently trespassed upon the attention of the
reader.

The Erewhonians regard death with less abhorrence
than disease. If it be an offence at all, it is one beyond
the reach of the law, which is therefore silent upon
the subject. They bury their dead in quick-lime, and
the ashes are presently scattered over any piece of
cultivated ground which the deceased may himself
have chosen. Ko one is permitted to refuse this
hospitality to the dead : people therefore generally

no

EREWHON.

choose some garden or orchard which they may have
known and been fond of when they were young.
They would fain avoid the loathsomeness and corrup-
tion of the grave, and enter into new forms of life
and beauty as soon as possible. The superstitious
hold that they whose ashes are scattered over any
land become its jealous guardians from that time for-
ward ; and the living like to think that they shall
become identified with this or that locality where
they have once been happy. I dared not tell them
our own system, for when I even began to hint at it
they turned away from me in deep displeasure. Epi-
taphs are not only unknown to them, but utterly
repugnant to all their tastes and feelings. There is no
law against them, for people would no more set them
up than they would try to fly ; but they have another
institution which comes to much the same thing, for
the instinct of preserving the name alive after the
death of the body seems to exist here as elsewhere.
They have statues of themselves made while they are
still alive (those, that is, who can afford it), and write
inscriptions under them, which are often quite as un-
truthful as are our own epitaphs — only in another
way. For they do not hesitate to describe themselves
as victims to ill temper, jealousy, covetousness, and
the like, but almost always lay claim to personal
beauty, whether they have it or not. In fact, if a per-
son is ugly he does not sit as a model for his own
statue, although it bears his name. He gets the
handsomest of his friends to sit for him, and one of
the ways of paying a compliment to another is t.o ask
him to sit for such a statue. The result is delightful.
Health and beauty and strength are being thus con-

MALCONTENTS.

in

tinually chronicled ; and the people think, rightly or
wrongly, that this keeps np the standard of all these
good things, making those feel ashamed of themselves
who do not possess them.

One other custom they have in connection with
death, which I can hardly pass over. When any one
dies, the friends of the family write no letters of con-
dolence, neither do they attend the scattering, nor
wear mourning, but they send little boxes filled with
artificial tears, and with the name of the sender
painted neatly upon the outside of the lid. The tears
vary in number from two to fifteen or sixteen, accord-
ing to degree of intimacy or relationship ; and people
sometimes find it a nice point of etiquette to know
the exact number which they ought to send. Strange
as it may appear, this attention is highly valued, and
its omission by those from whom it might be expected
is keenly felt. These tears were formerly stuck with
adhesive plaster to the cheeks of the bereaved, and
were worn in public for a few months after the death
of a relative ; they were then banished to the hat or
bonnet, and are now no longer worn.

CHAPTER XIII.

MAHAINA.

T CONTINUED my sojourn with the Nosnibors.

In a few days Mr Nosnibor had recovered from
his flogging, and was looking forward with glee to the
fact that the next would be the last. I did not
think that there seemed any occasion even for this ;
but he said it was better to be on the safe side, and
he would make up the dozen. He now went to his
business as usual; and I understood that he was
never more prosperous, in spite of his heavy fine. He
was unable to give me much of his time during the
day ; for he was one of those valuable men who are
paid, not by the year, month, week, or day, but by
the minute. His wife and daughters, however, made
much of me, and introduced me to their friends
who came in shoals to call upon me.

One of these persons was a lady called Mahaina.
Zulora (the elder of my host's daughters) ran up to
her and embraced her as soon as she entered the
room, at the same time inquiring tenderly after her
"poor dipsomania." Mahaina answered that it was
just as bad as ever ; she was a perfect martyr to it,
and her excellent health was the only thing which
consoled her under her affliction.

Then the other ladies joined in with condolences

MA HA IN A.

"3

and the never -failing suggestions which, they had
ready for every mental malady. They recommended
their own straightener and disparaged Mahaina's.
Mrs Nosnibor had a favourite nostrum, but I could
catch little of its nature. I heard the words "full
confidence that the desire to drink will cease when
the formula has been repeated * * * this confidence
is everything * * * far from undervaluing a thorough
determination never to touch spirits again * * *
fail too often * * * formula a certain cure (with
great emphasis) * .* * prescribed form * * * full
conviction." The conversation became then more
audible, and was carried on at considerable length.
I should perplex myself and the reader by endea-
vouring to follow the ingenious perversity of all
they said; enough, that in the course of time they
came to an end, and Mahaina took her leave receiv-
ing affectionate embraces from all the ladies. I had
remained in the background after the first cere-
mony of introduction, for I did not like the looks of
Mahaina and the conversation displeased me. When
she left the room I had some consolation in the remarks
called forth by her departure.

At first they fell to praising her very demurely.
She was all this that and the other, till I disliked
her more and more at every word and inquired how it
was that the straighteners had not been able to cure
her as they had cured Mr Nosnibor.

There was a shade of significance on Mrs Nosnibor's
face as I said this, which seemed to imply that
she did not consider Mahaina's case to be quite one
for a straightener. It flashed across me that perhaps
the poor woman did not drink at all. I knew that

H

114 EREWHON.

I ought not to have inquired, but I could not help it?
and asked point blank whether she did or not.

" We can none of us judge of the condition of
other people," said Mrs Nosnibor in a gravely char-
itable tone and with a look towards Zulora.

" Oh, mamma," answered Zulora, pretending to
be half angry but rejoiced at being able to say out
what she was already longing to insinuate ; "I don't
believe a word of it. It 's all indigestion. I remember
staying in the house with her for a whole month last
summer, and I am sure she never once touched a drop
of wine or spirits. The fact is, Mahaina is a very
weakly girl," and she pretends to get tipsy in order to
win a forbearance from her friends to which she is
not the least entitled. She is not strong enough for
her calisthenic exercises and she knows she would be
made to do them unless her inability was referred to
moral causes."

Here the younger sister, who was ever sweet and
kind, remarked that she thought Mahaina did tipple
occasionally. " I also think," she added, " that she
sometimes takes poppy juice."

" Well then perhaps she does drink sometimes,"
said Zulora; "but she would make us all think
that she does it much oftener in order to hide her
weakness."

And so they went on for half an hour and more,
bandying about the question as to how far their late
visitor's intemperance was real or alleged. Every now
and then they would join in some charitable common-
place, and would pretend to be all of one mind that
Mahaina was a person whose bodily health would be
excellent if it were not for her unfortunate inability to

MAHAINA.

refrain from excessive drinking ; but as soon as this
appeared to be fairly settled they began to be uncom-
fortable until they had undone their work and left some
serious imputation upon her constitution. At last,
seeing that the debate had assumed the character of
a cyclone or circular storm, going round and round
and round and round till one could never say where
it began nor where it ended, I made some apology
for an abrupt departure and retired to my own room.

Here at least I was alone, but I was very unhappy.
I had fallen upon a set of people who, in spite of
their high civilisation and many excellences, had been
so warped by the mistaken views presented to them
during childhood from generation to generation, that
it was impossible to see how they could ever clear
themselves. Was there nothing which I could say to
make them feel that the constitution of a person's
body was a thing over which he ,or she had had at
any rate no initial control whatever, while the mind
was a perfectly different thing, and capable of being
created anew and directed according to the pleasure
of its possessor ? Could I never bring them to see
that while habits of mind and character were entirely
independent of initial mental force and early educa-
tion, the body was so much a creature of parent-
age and circumstances, that no punishment for ill
health should be ever tolerated save as a protection
from contagion, and that even where punishment was
inevitable it should be attended with compassion?
Surely, if the unfortunate Mahaina were to feel that
she could avow her bodily weakness without fear
of being despised for her misfortunes, and if there
were medical men to whom she could fairly state her

ii6 EREWHON.

case, she would not hesitate about doing so through
the fear of taking nasty medicine. It was possible
that her malady was incurable (for I had heard enough
to convince me that her dipsomania was only a
pretence and that she was temperate in all her habits) ;
in that case she might perhaps be justly subject to
annoyances or even to restraint; but who could say
whether she was curable or not, until she was able to
make a clean breast of her symptoms instead of con-
cealing them ? In their eagerness to stamp out dis-
ease, these people overshot their mark ; for men had
become so clever at dissembling — they painted their
faces with such consummate skill — they repaired the
decay of time and the effects of mischance with such
profound dissimulation — that it was really impossible
to say whether any one was well or ill till after an
intimate acquaintance of months or years. Even then
the shrewdest were constantly mistaken in their judg-
ments, and marriages were often contracted with most
deplorable results, owing to the art with which infir-
mity had been concealed.

It appeared to me that the first step towards the
cure of disease should be the announcement of the fact
to a person's near relations and friends. If any one
had a headache, he ought to be permitted within
reasonable limits to say so at once, and to retire to
his own bedroom and take a pill, without every
one's looking grave and tears being shed and all the
rest of it. As it was, even upon hearing it whispered
that somebody else was subject to headaches, a whole
company must look as though they had never had a
headache in their lives. It is true they were not very
prevalent, for the people were the healthiest and most

MAHAINA.

117

comely imaginable, owing to the severity with which
ill health was treated ; still, even the best were liable
to be out of sorts sometimes, and there were few
families that had not a medicine-chest in a cupboard
somewhere. I could understand that it should be
necessary to attach painful remedies to diseases,
inasmuch as there would be no getting rid of them
otherwise. The public whipping of those who had the
small-pox seemed not only intelligible but natural.
I could even understand their punishing incurables
with seclusion, and in extreme cases with death;
but the tone of manner which they adopted towards
these unfortunate persons, and the feelings with which
they one and all regarded them, were quite beyond
my comprehension.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MUSICAL BANKS.

AN my return to the drawing-room, I found that the
^ Mahaina current had expended itself. The ladies
were just putting away their work and preparing to
go out. I asked them where they were going. They
answered with a certain air of reserve that they were
going to the bank to get some money.

Now I had already collected that the mercantile
affairs of the Erewhonians were conducted on a
totally different system from our own : I had how-
ever gathered little hitherto, except that they had two
distinct commercial systems, of which the one appealed
more strongly to the imagination than anything to
which we are accustomed in Europe, inasmuch as
the banks that were conducted upon this system
were decorated in the most profuse fashion, and all
mercantile transactions were accompanied with music,
so that they were called musical banks, though the
music was hideous to a European ear.

As for the system itself I never understood itr
neither can I do so now : they have a code in connec-
tion with it, which I have not the slightest doubt that
they themselves understand, but no foreigner can hope
to do so. One rule runs into and against another as
in a most complicated grammar, or as in Chinese pro-

THE MUSICAL BANKS.

119

nunciation, wherein I am told that the slightest
change in accentuation or tone of voice alters the
meaning of a whole sentence. Whatever is incoherent
in my description must be referred to the fact of my
never having attained to a full comprehension of the
subject.

So far however as I could collect anything certain,
they appeared to have two entirely distinct currencies,
each under the control of its own banks and mer-
cantile codes. The one of them (the one with the
musical banks) was supposed to be the system, and to
give out the currency in which all monetary trans-
actions should be carried on: as far as I could see, all
who wished to be considered respectable, did keep a
certain amount of this currency at these banks : on
the other hand if there is one thing of which I am
more sure of than another it is that the amount so
kept was but a very small part of their possessions.
I think they took the money, put it into the bank,
and then drew it out again, repeating the process day
by day, and keeping a certain amount of currency for
this purpose and no other, while they paid the ex-
penses of the bank with the other coinage. I am sure
that the managers and cashiers of the musical banks
were not paid in their own currency. Mr Nosnibor
used to go to these musical banks, or rather to the
great mother bank of the city, sometimes but not
very often. He was a pillar of one of the other
banks, though he appeared to hold some minor office
also in these. The ladies generally went alone ; as
indeed was the case in most families, except on stated
occasions.

I had long wanted to know more of this strange

120

ERE WHO N.

system, and had the greatest desire to accompany my
hostess and her daughters. I had seen them go out
almost every morning since my arrival and had
noticed that they carried their purses in their hands,
not exactly ostentatiously, yet just so as that those
who met them should see whither they were going. I
had never yet been asked to go with them myself.

It is not easy to convey a person's manner by words,
and I can hardly give any idea of the peculiar
feeling which came upon me whenever I saw the ladies
in the hall, with their purses in their hands, and
on the point of starting for the bank. There was a
something of regret, a something as though they would
wish to take me with them, but did not like to ask me,
and yet as though I were hardly to ask to be taken.
I was determined however to bring matters to an issue
with my hostess about my going with them, and
after a little parleying and many inquiries as to
whether I was perfectly sure that I myself wished to
go, it was decided that I might do so.

We passed through several streets of more or less
considerable houses, and at last turning round a cor-
ner we came on a large piazza, at the end of which
was a magnificent building, of a strange but noble
architecture and of great antiquity. It did not open
directly on to the piazza, there being a screen, through
which was an archway, between the piazza and the
actual precincts of the bank. On passing under the
archway we found ourselves upon a green .sward,
round which there ran an arcade or cloister, while in
front of us uprose the majestic towers of the bank
and its venerable front, which was divided into three
deep recesses and adorned with all sorts of marbles

THE MUSICAL BANKS. 1 21

and many sculptures. On either side there were beau-
tiful old trees wherein the birds were busy by the
hundred, and a number of quaint but substantial
houses of singularly comfortable appearance; they were
situated in the midst of orchards and gardens, and
gave me an impression of great peace and plenty.

Indeed it had been no error to say that this building
was one which appealed to the imagination ; it did
more — it carried both imagination and judgment by
storm. It was an epic in stone and marble ; neither
had I ever seen anything in the least comparable to
it. I was completely charmed and melted. I felt
more conscious of the existence of a remote past. One
knows of this always, but the knowledge is never so
living as in the actual presence of some witness to the
life of bygone ages. I felt how short a space of human
life was the period of our own existence. I was more im-
pressed with my own littleness, and much more inclin-
able to believe that the people whose sense of the fitness
of things was equal to the upraising of so serene a
handiwork, were hardly likely to be wrong in the con-
clusions they might come to upon any subject. My feel-
ing certainly was that the currency of this bank must
be the right one.

We crossed the sward and entered jthe building. If
the outside had been impressive the inside was even
more so. It was very lofty and divided into several
parts by walls which rested upon massive pillars; the
windows were filled with glass, on which had been
painted the principal commercial incidents of the
bank for many ages. In a remote part of the build-
ing there were men and boys singing ; this was the
only disturbing feature, for as the gamut was still

122

EREWHON.

unknown, there was no music in the country which
could be agreeable to a European ear. The singers
seemed to have derived their inspirations from the
songs of birds and the wailing of the wind, which last
they tried to imitate in melancholy cadences which
at times degenerated into a howl. To my thinking the
noise was hideous, but it produced a great effect upon
my companions, who professed themselves much
moved. As soon as the singing was over the ladies
requested me to stay where I was, while they went
inside the place from which it had seemed to come.

During their absence certain reflections forced them-
selves upon me.

In the first place, it struck me as strange that the
building should be so nearly empty : I was almost
alone, and the few besides myself had been led by
curiosity, and had no intention of doing business with
the bank. But there might be more inside. I stole
up to the curtain, and ventured to draw the extreme
edge of it on one side. No, there was hardly any one
there. I saw a large number of cashiers, all at their
desks ready to pay cheques, and one or two who
seemed to be the managing partners. I also saw my
hostess and her daughters and two or three other
ladies ; also three or four old women and the boys
from one of the neighbouring Colleges of Unreason ;
but there was no one else. This did not look as
though the bank was doing a very large business ; and
yet I had always been told that every one in the city
dealt with this establishment.

I cannot describe all that took place in these inner
precincts, for a sinister-looking person in a black
gown came and made unpleasant gestures at me for

THE MUSICAL BANKS.

123

peeping. I happened to have in my pocket one of the
musical bank pieces, which had been given me by
Mrs Nosnibor, so I tried to tip him with it; but
having seen what it was he became so angry that it
was all I could do to pacify him. When he was gone
I ventured to take a second look, and saw Zulora in
the very act of giving a piece of paper which looked
like a cheque to one of the cashiers. He did not
examine it, but, putting his hand into an antique
coffer hard by, he pulled out a quantity of metal pieces
apparently at random, and handed them over without
counting them ; neither did Zulora count them, but
put them into her purse and departed. I supposed
that they knew their own business best, for the ladies
seemed quite satisfied, thanked him for the money, and
began making towards the curtain ; on this I let it
drop and retreated to a reasonable distance.

They soon joined me. For some few minutes we all
kept silence, but at last I ventured to remark that the
bank was not so busy to-day as it probably often was.
On this Mrs Nosnibor said that it was indeed melan-
choly to see what little heed people paid to the most
precious of all institutions. To this I could say
nothing ; but I have ever been of opinion that the
greater part of mankind do on the whole know where
they get that which does them good. Mrs Nosnibor
went on to say that I must not imagine that there was
any want of confidence in the bank because I had seen
so few people there ; the heart of the country was
thoroughly devoted to these establishments, and any
sign of their being in danger would bring in support
from the most unexpected quarters. It was only
because people knew them to be so very safe, that in

124

EREWHON.

some cases (as she lamented to say in Mr Nbsnibor's)
they felt that their support was unnecessary. More-
over these institutions never departed from the safest
and most approved banking principles. Thus they
never allowed interest on deposit, a thing now fre-
quently done by certain bubble companies, which by
doing an illegitimate trade had drawn many customers
away ; and even the shareholders were fewer than
formerly, owing to the innovations of these unscrupu-
lous persons, for the musical banks paid little or no
dividend, but divided their profits by way of bonus on
the original shares once in every three hundred and
fifty years ; and as it was now only two hundred years
since there had been one of these distributions, people
felt that they could not hope for another in their own
time and preferred investments whereby they got some
more tangible return ; all which, she said, was very
melancholy to think of.

Having made these last admissions, she returned to
her original statement, namely, that every one in the
country really supported the bank. As to the fewness
of the people, and the absence of the able-bodied, she
pointed out to me with some justice that this was
exactly what we ought to expect. The men who
were most conversant about the stability of human
institutions, such as the lawyers, men of science,
doctors, statesmen, painters, and the like, were just
those who were most likely to be misled by their own
fancied accomplishments, and to be made unduly
suspicious by their licentious desire for greater present
return, which was at the root of nine-tenths of the
opposition, by their vanity, which would prompt
them to affect superiority to the prejudices of the

TliE MUSICAL BANKS.

»

125

vulgar, and by the stings of their own conscience,
which was constantly upbraiding them in the most
cruel manner on account of their bodies, which were
generally diseased ; let a person's intellect be never so
sound, unless his body were in absolute health he
could form no judgment worth having on matters of
this kind. The body was everything : it need not
perhaps be such a strong body (she said this because
she saw that I was thinking of the old and infirm-
looking folks whom I had seen in the bank), but it
must be in perfect health ; in this case, the less active
strength it had the more free would be the working of
the intellect, and therefore the sounder the conclu-
sion. The people then whom I had seen at the bank
were in reality the very ones whose opinions were most
worth having; they declared its advantages to be
incalculable, and even professed to consider the im-
mediate return to be far larger than they were entitled
to ; and so she ran on, nor did she leave off till we
had got back to the house.

She might say what she pleased, but her manner
was not one that carried much conviction ; and later
on I saw signs of general indifference to these banks
that were not to be mistaken. Their supporters often
denied it, but the denial was generally so couched as
to add another proof of its existence. In commercial
panics, and in times of general distress, the people as
a mass did not so much as even think of turning to
these banks. A few individuals might do so, some
from habit and early training, some from hope of
gain, but few from a genuine belief that the money
was good : the masses turned instinctively to the other
currency. In a conversation with one of the musical

126

EREWHON.

bank managers I ventured / to hint this as plainly as
politeness would allow. He said that it had been
more or less true till lately; but that now they had
put fresh stained glass windows into all the banks in
the country, and repaired the buildings, and enlarged
the organs, and taken to talking nicely to the people
in the streets, and to remembering the ages of their
children and giving them things when they were ill,
so that all would henceforth go smoothly.

" But haven't you done anything to the money
itself? " said I, timidly.

"It is not necessary," he rejoined; "not in the
least necessary, I assure you."

On reviewing the whole matter, I can be certain of
this much only, that the money given out at the
musical banks is not the current coin of the realm.
It is not the money with which the people do as a
general rule buy their bread, meat, and clothing. It
is like it; some coins very like it; and it is not
counterfeit. It is not, take it all round, a spurious
article made of base metal in imitation of the money
which is in daily use; but it is a distinct coinage
which, though I do not suppose it ever actually
superseded the ordinary gold, silver, and copper, was
probably issued by authority, and was intended to
supplant those metals. Some of the pieces were really
of exquisite beauty ; and some were, I do verily be-
lieve, nothing but the ordinary currency, only that
there was another head and Dame in place of that of
the commonwealth. And here was one of the great
marvels ; for those who were most strongly in favour
of this coinage maintained, and even grew more
excited if they were opposed here than on any other

THE MUSICAL BANKS.

127

matter, that the very selfsame coin with the head
of the commonwealth upon it was of little if any
value, while it became exceedingly precious if stamped
with the other image. Some of the coins were
plainly bad ; of these last there were not many ; still
there were enough for them to be not uncommon.
These seemed to be entirely composed of alloy ; they
would bend easily, would melt away to nothing with
a little heat, and were quite unsuited for a currency.
Yet there were few of the wealthier classes who did
not maintain that even these coins were genuine
good money, though thej^ were chary of taking them.
Every one knew this, so they were seldom offered ;
but all thought it incumbent upon them to retain a
good many in their possession, and to let them be
seen from time to time in their hands and purses.
Of course people knew their real value exceedingly
well ; but few, if any, dared to say what that value
was; or if they did, it would be only in certain
companies or in writing in the newspapers anony-
mously. Strange ! there was hardly any insinuation
against this coinage which they would not tolerate
and even applaud in their daily papers ; and yet, if
the same thing were said without ambiguity to their
faces — nominative case verb and accusative being
all in their right places, and doubt impossible — they
would consider themselves very seriously and justly
outraged, and accuse the speaker of being unwell.

I never could understand, neither can I do so
now, why a single currency should not suffice them ;
it would seem to me as though all their dealings
would have been thus greatly simplified ; but I was
met with a look of horror if ever I dared to hint at

128

ERE WHO N.

it. Even those who to my certain knowledge kept
only just enongh money at the musical banks to
swear by, would call the other banks (where their
securities really lay) cold, deadening, paralysing, and
the like. I noticed another thing moreover which
struck me greatly. I was taken to the opening of
one of these banks in a neighbouring town, and saw
a large assemblage of cashiers and managers. I sat
opposite them and scanned their faces attentively.
They did not please me ; they lacked, with few ex-
ceptions, the true Erewhonian frankness ; and an
equal number from any other class .would have
looked happier and better men. When I met them
in the streets they did not seem like other people,
but had, as a general rule, a cramped expression upon
their faces which pained and depressed me.

Those who came from the country were better ; they
seemed to have lived less as a separate class, and to be
freer and healthier ; but in spite of my seeing not a
few whose looks were benign and noble, I could not
help asking myself concerning the greater number of
those whom I met, whether Erewhon would be a better
country if their expression were to be transferred to the
people in general. I answered myself emphatically, no.
The expression on the faces of the high Ydgrunites was
that which one would wish to diffuse, and not that of
the cashiers. A man's expression is his sacrament ;
it is the outward and visible sign of his inward and
spiritual grace, or want of grace; and as I looked at
the majority of these men, I could not help feeling
that there must be a something in their lives which
had stunted their natural development, and that they
would have been more healthily minded in any other

THE MUSICAL BANKS.

129

profession. I was always sorry for them, for in nine
cases out of ten they were well-meaning persons;
they were in the main very poorly paid ; their consti-.
tntions were as a rule above suspicion; and there were
recorded numberless instances of their self-sacrifice
and generosity; but they had had the misfortune
to have been betrayed into a false position at an age
for the most part when their judgment was not ma-
tured, and after having been kept in studied ignorance
of the real difficulties of the system. But this did
not make their position the less a false one, and its
bad effects upon themselves were unmistakable.

Few people would speak quite openly and freely
before them, which struck me as a very bad sign. When
they were in the room every one would talk as though
all currency save that of the musical banks should
be abolished ; and yet they knew perfectly well that
even the cashiers themselves hardly used the musical
bank money more than other people. It was expected
of them that they should appear to do so, but this was
all. The less thoughtful of them did not seem parti-
cularly unhappy, but many were plainly sick at heart,
though perhaps they hardly knew it (fortunatos quod
infortuniam suam nescirent?) Some few were oppo-
nents of the whole system ; but these were liable to be
dismissed from their employment at any moment, and '
this rendered them very careful, for a man who had
once been cashier at a musical bank was out of the 1
field for other employment, and was generally unfitted
for it by reason of that course of treatment which was
commonly called his education. In fact it was a career
from which retreat was virtually impossible, and into
which young men were generally induced to enter be-

1

130

ERE WHO W.

fore they could be reasonably expected, considering
their training, to have formed any opinions of their
own. Few indeed were those who had the courage to
insist on seeing both sides of the question before they
committed themselves to either. One would have
thought that this was an elementary principle, — one
of the first things that an honourable man would teach
his boy to do ; but in practice it was not so.

I even saw cases in which parents bought the right
of presenting to the office of cashier at one of these
banks, with the fixed determination that some one
of their sons (perhaps a mere child) should fill it.
There was the lad himself — growing up with every pro-
mise of becoming a good and honourable man — but
utterly without warning concerning the iron shoe which
his natural protector was providing for him. Who
could say that the whole thing would not end in a life-
long lie, and vain chafing to escape?

I confess that there were few things in Erewhon
which shocked me more than this.

CHAPTER XY.

AROWHENA.

npHE reader will perhaps have learned by this time
a thing which I had myself suspected before I had
been twenty-four hours in Mr Nosnibor's house — I
mean, that the Nosnibors were very rich people, and
exceedingly attentive and hospitable to me, yet that I
could not and did not like them, with the exception
of Arowhena who was quite different from the rest.
They were not fair samples of Erewhonians. I saw
many families with whom they were on visiting terms,
whose manners charmed me more than I know how to
say, but I never could get over my original prejudice
against Mr Nosnibor for having embezzled the money.
Mrs Nosnibor, too, was a very worldly woman, yet to
hear her talk one would have thought that she had
received the stigmata; neither could I endure Zulora;
Arowhena however was perfection. She it was who
ran all the little errands for her mother and Mr ISTos-
nibor and Zulora, and gave those thousand proofs of
sweetness and unselfishness which some one member
of a family is generally required to give. All day long it
was Arowhena this, and Arowhena that; but she never
seemed to know that she was being put upon, and was
always bright and willing from morning till evening.
Zulora certainly was very handsome, but Arowhena

132

EREWHON.

was infinitely the more graceful of the two and was
the very ne plus ultra of youth and beauty. I will
not attempt to describe her, for any thing that I could
say would fall so far short of the reality as only to
mislead the reader. Let him think of the very love-
liest that he can imagine, and he will be still below
the truth.

Having said this much, I need hardly say that I
had fallen in love with her, and determined that
come what might I would certainly marry her, if she
would only have me: to this end therefore I now
devoted myself. She must have seen what I felt for
her, but I tried my very hardest not to let it appear
even by the slightest sign. I had many reasons for
this. I had no idea what Mr and Mrs Nbsnibor would
say to it ; and I knew that Arowhena would not look
at me (at any rate not yet) if her father and mother
disapproved, which they probably would, considering
that I had nothing except the pension of about a
pound a day of our money which the king had
granted me. I did not yet know of a more serious
obstacle.

In the meantime, I may say that I had been
presented at court, and was told that my recep-
tion had been considered as singularly gracious ;
indeed, I had several interviews both with the king
and queen, at which from time to time the queen got
everything from me that I had in the world, clothes
and all, except the two buttons which I had given to
Tram, the loss of which seemed to annoy her a good
deal. I was presented with a court suit, and her ma-
jesty had my old clothes put upon a wooden dummy,
on which they probably remain, unless they have been

ARO WHEN A .

133

removed in consequence of my subsequent downfall.
His majesty's manners were those of a cultivated
English gentleman. He was much pleased at hearing
that our government was monarchical, and that the
mass of the people were resolute that it should not be
changed ; indeed, I was so much encouraged by the
evident pleasure with which he heard me, that I
ventured to quote to him those beautiful lines of
Shakespeare's —

" There 's a divinity doth hedge a king,
Rough hew him how we may ; "

but I was sorry I had done so afterwards, for I don't
think his majesty admired the lines as much as I
could have wished.

There is no occasion for me to dwell further upon
my experience of the court, but I ought perhaps to
allude to one of my conversations with his majesty,
inasmuch as it was pregnant with the most important
consequences.

The king had been asking me about my watch, and
whether such dangerous inventions were tolerated in
the country from which I came. I owned with some
confusion that watches were not uncommon; but,
observing the gravity which came over his majesty's
face I presumed to say that they were fast dying out,
and that we had few if any other mechanical contri-
vances of which he was likely to disapprove. Upon
his asking me to name some of our most advanced
machines, I did not dare to tell him of our steam-
engines and railroads and electric telegraphs, and
was puzzling my brains to think what I could say,
when, of all things in the world, balloons suggested

134

ERE WHO N.

themselves, and I gave him an account of a very-
remarkable ascent which was made some years ago.
The king was too polite to contradict, but I felt sure
that he did not believe me, and from that day forward
though he always showed me the attention which was
due to my genius (for in this light was my complexion
regarded), he never questioned me about the manners
and customs of my country.

To return however to Arowhena. I soon gathered
that neither Mr nor Mrs Nosnibor would have any
objection to my marrying into the family ; a physical
excellence is considered in Erewhon as a set off against
almost any other disqualification, and my light hair
was sufficient to make me an eligible match. But
along with this welcome fact I gathered another which
filled me with dismay : I was expected to marry
Zulora, for whom I had already conceived a great
aversion.

At first I hardly noticed the little hints and the
artifices which were contrived in order to bring us
together, but after a time they became too plain.
Zulora, whether she was in love with me or not, was
bent on marrying me, and I gathered in talking with
a young gentleman of my acquaintance who frequently
visited the house and whom I greatly disliked, that
it was considered a sacred and inviolable rale that
whoever married into a family must marry the eldest
daughter at that time unmarried. The young gen-
tleman urged this upon me so frequently that I at last
got to see that he was in love with Arowhena him-
self and wanted me to get Zulora out of the way; but
others told me the same story as to the custom of the
country and I saw there was a serious difficulty. My

AR 0 WHEN A. 135

only comfort was that Arowhena snubbed my rival
and would not look at him. Neither would she look
at me ; nevertheless, there was a difference in the
manner of her disregard ; this was all I could get
from her.

Not that she at all avoided me ; on the contrary
I had many a tete-a-tete with her, for her mother and
sister were anxious for me to deposit some part of my
pension in the musical banks, this being in accordance
with the dictates of their goddess Ydgrun, of whom
both Mrs Nosnibor and Zulora were great devotees. I
could not then be sure whether I had kept my secret
from being in the least perceived by Arowhena herself
but none of the others suspected me, so she was set
upon me to get me to open an account, at any rate
pro forma, with the musical banks ; and I need hardly
say that she succeeded (as she should have done in
whatever else she wanted from me) although I felt
little confidence in the banks. But I did not yield at
once ; I enjoyed the process of being argued with too
keenly to lose it by a prompt concession ; besides, a
little hesitation rendered the concession itself more
valuable. It was in the course of conversations on
this subject that I learnt the religious opinions of the
Erewhonians. I will describe them as briefly as pos-
sible in the following chapters before I proceed with
the personal adventures of myself and Arowhena.

They were idolaters, though of a comparatively en-
lightened kind ; but here, as in other things, there
was a discrepancy between their professed and actual
belief, for they had a genuine and potent faith which
existed without recognition alongside of their idol
worship.

136

ERE WHO 1ST.

The gods whom, they worship openly are personi-
fications of human qualities, as justice, strength, hope,
fear, love, &c, &c. The people think that prototypes
of these have a real objective existence in a region far
beyond the clouds, holding as did the ancients that
they are like men and women both in body and
passion save that they are even comelier and more
powerful, and also that they can render themselves
invisible to human eyesight. They are capable of
being propitiated by mankind and of coming to the
assistance of those who ask their aid. Their interest
in human affairs is keen and on the whole beneficent ;
but they become very angry if neglected, and punish
rather the first they come upon than the actual
person who has offended them ; their fury being
blind when it is raised, though never raised without
reason. They will not punish with any less severity
when people sin against them from ignorance, and
without the chance of having had knowledge ; they
will take no excuses of this kind, but are even as the
English law, which assumes itself to be known to
every one — it is all one to them whether the offender
knew or did not know. Thus they have a law that
two pieces of matter may not occupy the same space
at the same moment, which law is presided over and
administered by the gods of time and space jointly,
so that if a flying stone and a man's head attempt to
outrage these gods, by " arrogating a right which they
do not possess" for so it is written in one of their
books, and to occupy the same space simultaneously,
a severe punishment, sometimes even death itself, is
sure to follow, without any regard to whether the
stone knew that the man's head was there, or the head

AROWHENA.

137

the stone : this at least is their view of the common
accidents of life. Moreover, they hold their deities to
he quite regardless of motives. With them it is the
thing done which is everything, and the motive goes
for nothing.

Thus they hold it strictly forbidden for a man to go
without common air in his lungs for more than a very
few minutes ; and if by any chance he gets into the
water, the air-god is exceeding wroth and will not
suffer it; no matter whether the man got into the
water by accident or on purpose, whether through the
attempt to save a child or through presumptuous
contempt of the air-god, it is all the same, the air-god
will kill him, unless he give him his due.

This with regard to the deities who manage physical
affairs. Over and above these they personify hope, fear,
love, and so forth, giving them temples and priests and
carving likenesses of them in stone, which they verily
believe to be faithful representations of living beings
who are only not human in being more than human. If
any one denies the objective existence of these divin-
ities, and says that there is really no such being as a
beautiful woman called Justice, with her eyes blinded
and a pair of scales positively living and moving in a
remote and gethereal region, but that justice is only
the personified expression of certain modes of human
thought and action — on this they become disturbed
and call the objector every kind of ill name, saying that
he denies the existence of justice in denying her per-
sonality, and that he is a wanton disturber of men's
religious convictions. They detest nothing so much as
any attempt to lead them to higher spiritual concep-
tions of the deities whom they profess to worship.

138

ERE WHO N.

Arowhena and I had a pitched battle on this point, and
should have had many more but for my prudence in
allowing her to get the better of me.

I am sure that in her heart she was suspicious of her
own position for she returned more than once to the
subject. " Can you not see," I had exclaimed, "that
the fact of Justice being admirable will not be in the
least affected by the absence of a belief in her being
also a living agent ? Can you really think that men
will be one whit less hopeful, because they no longer
believe that hope is an actual person ?" She shook her
head, and said that with men's belief in the personality
all incentive to the reverence of the thing itself, as
justice or hope, would cease ; men from that hour
would never be either just or hopeful again. She was
evidently so sincere, and looked so genuinely grieved
at hearing any one doubt what she had been always
told that she should regard as a first principle of be-
lief, that I was fonder and fonder of her at every word
she said. Never did she look so beautiful. There was
in her face such a sweet and wondering simplicity that
it was all I could do to avoid telling her that I had
been converted by my own eyes into accepting faith's
existence as a divinity.

But I could not move her, nor indeed did I
seriously wish to do so. She deferred to me in most
things, for she knew that I had travelled far and seen
much, also, that I was quite sincere, and would not for
the world have pained her ; but from the first she
never shrank from fearlessly maintaining her opinions
if they were put in question , nor does she to this clay
abate one jot of her belief in the religion of her
childhood, though in compliance with my repeated

AROWHENA.

139

entreaties she" has allowed herself to be baptized into
the English Church. She has however made a sort
of illogical excresence upon her original faith to the
effect that her baby and I are the only human beings
exempt from the vengeance of the deities for not
believing in their personality. She is quite clear that
we are exempted. She should never have so strong
a conviction of it otherwise. How it has come about
she cannot tell, neither does she wish to know ; there
are things which it is better not to know and this is
one of them ; but when I tell her that I believe in
her deities as much as she does, and that she cannot
believe in the existence of justice more firmly than I
do, and that it is a difference about words, not things,
she becomes silent with a slight emphasis.

I own that she very nearly conquered me once ;
for she asked me what I should think if she were to
tell me that my God, whose nature and attributes I
had been explaining to her, was but the expression
for man's highest conception of goodness, wisdom,
and power; that in order to generate a more vivid
conception of so great and glorious a thought, man
had personified it and called it by a name; that it
was an unworthy conception of the Deity to hold Him
personal, inasmuch as escape from human contin-
gencies became thus impossible ; that the real thing
men should worship was the Divine, whereinsoever
they could find it ; that " God" was but man's way of
expressing his sense of the Divine ; that as justice,
hope, wisdom, &c, were all parts of goodness, so God
was the expression which embraced all goodness and
all good power ; that people would no more cease to
love God on ceasing to believe in His objective per-

I40

ERE WHO N,

sonality, than they had ceased to love justice on dis-
covering that she was not really personal ; nay, that
they would never truly love Him till they saw Him
thus. She said all this in her artless way, and with
none of the coherence with which I have here written
it ; her face kindled, and she felt sure that she had
convinced me that I was wrong, and that justice
was a living person. Indeed I did wince a little; but
I recovered myself immediately and pointed out to
her that the case was entirely different, because we
had books whose genuineness was beyond all pos-
sibility of doubt, as they were certainly none of them
less than 1800 years old; that in these there were
the most authentic accounts of men who had been
spoken to by the Deity Himself, and of one prophet
who had been allowed to see the back parts of God
through the hand that was hidden over his face. This
was conclusive ; and I spoke with such solemnity that
she was a little frightened, and only answered that
they too had their books, in which their ancestors
had seen the gods ; on which I saw that further
argument was not at all likely to convince her ; and
fearing that she might tell her mother what I had
been saying, and that I might lose the hold upon
her affections which I was beginning to feel pretty
sure that I was obtaining, I began to let her have
her own way, and to convince me ; neither till after
we were safely married did I show the cloven hoof
again.

I

CHAPTER XYI.

YDGEUN AND THE YDGRUNITES.

T)UT, in spite of all the to-do which they made
about their idols, and the temples which they
build, and the priests and priestesses whom they sup-
port, I could never think that their professed religion
was more than skin-deep ; but they had. another which
they carried with them into all their actions; and
although no one from the outside of things would
suspect it to have any existence at all, it was in
reality their great guide, the mariner's compass of
their lives ; so that there were very few things which
they ever either did or refrained from without refer-
ence to its precepts.

Now I suspected that their professed faith had no
great hold upon them — firstly, because I often heard
the priests complain of the prevailing indifference,
and they would hardly have done so without reason ;
secondly, because of the show which was made, for
there was none of this about the worship of the god-
dess Ydgrun, in whom they really did believe ;
thirdly, because though the priests were constantly
abusing Ydgrun as being the great enemy of the
gods, it was well known that she had no more de-
voted worshippers in the whole country than these
very persons, who were often priests of Ydgrun rather

142

EREWHON.

than of their own deities. Neither am I by any
means sure that these were not the best of the priests.

Ydgrun certainly occupied a very anomalous posi-
tion; she was held indeed to be both omnipresent
and omnipotent, but she was not an elevated con-
ception, and was sometimes both cruel and absurd.
Even her most devoted worshippers were a little
ashamed of her, and served her more with heart and
in deed than with their tongues. Theirs was no lip
service ; on the contrary, even when worshipping her
most devoutly, they would often deny her. Take her all
in all however she was a beneficent and useful deity,
who did not care how much she was denied so long as
she was obeyed and feared, and who kept hundreds of
thousands in those paths which make life tolerably
happy, who would never have been kept there other-
wise, and over whom a higher and more spiritual
ideal would have had no power. I greatly doubted
whether the Erewhonians were yet prepared for any
better religion, and though (considering my gradually
strengthened conviction that they were the repre-
sentatives of the lost tribes of Israel) I would have
set about converting them at all hazards had I seen
the remotest prospect of success, I could hardly con-
template the displacement of Ydgrun as the great
central object of their regard without admitting that
it would be attended with frightful consequences ; in
fact were I a mere philosopher, I should say that the
gradual raising of the popular conception of Ydgrun
would be the greatest spiritual boon which could be
conferred upon them, and that nothing could effect
this except example. I generally found that those
who complained most loudly that Ydgrun was not

YD G RUN AND THE YDGRUNITES.

143

high enough for them had hardly as yet come up to
the Ydgrun standard, and I often met with a class of
men, whom I called to myself " high Ydgrunites " (the
rest being Ydgrunites, and low Ydgrunites), who, in
the matter of human conduct and the affairs of life,
appeared to me to have got about as far as it is in the
right nature of man to go.

They were gentlemen in the fall sense of the word ;
and what has one not said in saying this ? They
seldom spoke of Ydgrun, or even alluded to her, but
would never run counter to her dictates without ample
reason for doing so : in such cases they would override
her with due self-reliance, and the . goddess seldom
punished them ; for they are brave, and Grundy is
not. Their physique is superlative and appearance
most prepossessing, as might be expected in a coun-
try where bodily disease has been stamped upon for so
many generations. They had most of them a smat-
tering of the hypothetical language, and some few
more than this, but only a few. I do not think that
this language has had much hand in making them
what they are ; but rather that the fact of their
being generally possessed of its rudiments was one
great reason for the reverence paid to the hypothetical
language itself. Being strong and handsome, and
kindly nurtured, moreover, being inured from youth
to exercises and athletics of all sorts, and living fear-
lessly under the eye of their peers, among whom
there exists a high standard of courage, generosity,
honour, and every good and manly quality, what won-
der that they should have become, so to speak, a law
unto themselves ; and, while taking an elevated view
of the goddess Ydgrun, they should have gradually

144

EREWHON.

lost all faith in the recognised deities of the country ?
These they do not set at defiance openly, for confor-
mity until absolutely intolerable is a law of Ydgrun,
yet they have no real belief in the objective existence of
beings which so readily explain themselves as abstrac-
tions, and whose personality demands a quasi-ma-
terialism which it baffles the imagination to realise ;
but they keep their opinions greatly to themselves,
inasmuch as most of their countrymen feel strongly
about the gods, and they hold it wrong to give pain,
unless for some greater good to come of it than seems
likely to arise from their 'plain speaking.

On the other hand, their silence tended to increase
the haze and fog of men's minds, — a great, and I
was told, a growing evil. This haze and fog are to a
man's life what foulness or turbidity is to a scheme of
colour, or slovenliness of outline to a drawing. Neu-
tral tones are one thing, muddiness is another ; the
losing in deep shadow is one thing, a diffused smudgi-
ness or fuzziness is another. No picture is great unless
both drawing and colour are in some parts found,
and again in others lost in formlessness and neu-
trality; and no man's mind is great which does not
admit uncertainty on many questions ; but in the
picture let that which is lost be lost, that which is
found be found, and that which is midway between
them be treated vaguely ; but let not that which should
be found be lost, nor what should be lost be found —
this is fatal ; above all, let there not be a diffused
losing, a diffused finding, or a diffused vagueness.

The same holds good in matters of opinion ; and
surely those whose own minds are clear about any
given matter (even though it be only that there is

YD G RUN AND THE YD GR UNITES.

145

little certainty) should go so far towards imparting
that clearness to others, as to say openly what
they think and why they think it, whenever they
can properly do so ; for they may be sure that
they owe their own clearness almost entirely to
the fact that others have clone this by them : after
all, they may be mistaken, and if so, it is for their
own and the general, well-being that they should
let their error be seen as distinctly as possible, so that
it may be more easily refuted. I own therefore that
on this one point I disapproved of the practice even of
the highest Ydgrunites, and objected to it all the more
because I knew that I should find my own future
task more easy if the high Ydgrunites had already
undermined the belief which is supposed to prevail
at present.

In other respects they were more like Englishmen
who had been educated at such a school as Winchester
(if there be such another) and sent thence to one of
the best colleges at Oxford or Cambridge, than any
whom I have seen in other countries. I should have
liked to have persuaded half a dozen of them to1 come
over to England and go upon the stage, for they had
most of them a keen sense of humour and a taste for
acting : they would be of great use to us. The ex-
ample of a real gentleman is, if I may say so without
profanity, the best of all gospels ; such a man upon
the stage becomes a potent humanising influence, an
Ideal which all may look upon for a shilling.

I always liked and admired these men, and although
I could not help deeply regretting their certain ulti-
mate perdition (for they had no sense of a hereafter,
and their only religion was that of self-respect and

K

146

EREWHON.

consideration for other people), I never dared to take
so great a liberty with them as to attempt to put them
in possession of my own religious convictions, in
spite of my knowing that they were the only ones
which could make them really good and happy,
either here or hereafter. I did try sometimes, being
impelled to do so by a strong sense of duty, and by
my deep regret that so much that was admirable
should be doomed to ages if not eternity of torture ;
but the words stuck in my throat as soon as ever
I began. Whether a professional missionary might
have a better chance I know not ; such persons must
doubtless know more about the science of conver-
sion : for myself, I could only be thankful that I
was in the right path, and was obliged to let
others take their chance as yet. If the plan fails
by which I propose to convert them myself, I
would gladly contribute my mite towards the sending
two or three trained missionaries, who have been
known as successful converters of Jews and Maho-
metans ; but such have seldom much to glory in the
flesh, and when I think of the high Ydgrunites, and
of the figure which a missionary would probably cut
among them, I cannot feel sanguine that much good
would be arrived at. Still the attempt is worth
making, and the worst danger to the missionaries
themselves would be that of being sent to the hos-
pital where Chowbok would have been sent had he
come with me into Erewhon.

Taking then their religious opinions as a whole, I
must own that the Erewhonians are superstitious on
account of the views which they hold of their professed
gods, and their entirely anomalous and inexplicable

YDGRUN AND THE YDGRtfNITES.

worship of Ydgrun, a worship at once the most power-
ful, yet most devoid of formalism, that I ever met
with ; but in practice they worked far better than
might have been expected, and the conflicting claims
of Ydgrun and the gods were arranged by unwritten
compromises, for the most part in Ydgrun's favour,
which in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred were
very well understood. I could not conceive why they
should not openly aekowledge high Ydgrunism, and
discard the objective personality of hope, justice, &c;
but whenever I so much as hinted at this, I found
that I was on dangerous ground. They would never
have it ; returning constantly to the assertion that
ages ago the divinities were frequently seen, and that
the moment their personality was disbelieved in, men
would leave off practising even those ordinary virtues
which the common experience of mankind has agreed
on as being the greatest secret of happiness. u Who
ever heard," they asked, indignantly, u of such things
as kindly training, a good example, and an enlightened
regard to one's own welfare, being able to keep men
straight?" In my hurry, forgetting things which I
ought to have remembered, I answered that if a person
could not be kept straight by these things, there
was nothing that could straighten him, and that if he
were not ruled by the love and fear of men whom he
had seen, neither would he be so by that of the gods
whom he had not seen.

At one time indeed I came upon a small but growing
sect who believed, after a fashion, in the immortality
of the soul and the resurrection from the dead ; they
taught that those who had been born with feeble
and diseased bodies and had passed their lives in

i

1 48

EREWHON.

ailing, would be tortured eternally hereafter ; but
that those who had been born strong and healthy
and handsome would be rewarded for ever and
ever. Of moral qualities or conduct they made no
mention.

Bad as this was, it was a step in advance, inas-
much1 as they did hold out a future state of some sort,
and I was shocked to find that for the most part they
met with opposition, on the score that their doctrine
was based upon no sort of foundation, also that it
was immoral in its tendency, and not to be desired
by any reasonable beings. When I asked how
it could possibly be immoral, I was answered, that if
firmly held, it would lead people to disregard the
sanctity of this present life, making it appear to be
an affair of only secondary importance ; that it would
thus distract men's minds from the perfecting of this
world's economy, and was an impatient cutting, so to
speak, of the G-ordian knot of life's problems, whereby
some people might gain present satisfaction to them-
selves at the cost of infinite damage to others ; that
the doctrine tended to encourage the poor in their
improvidence, and in a debasing acquiescence in ills
which they might well remedy ; that the rewards
were illusory and the result, after all, of luck, whose
empire should be bounded by the grave, and that its
terrors were enervating and unjust; that even the most
blessed rising would be but the disturbing of a still
more blessed slumber ; that sleep was better than
waking, and rest than resurrection.

To all which I could only say that the thing had
been actually known to happen, and that there were
several well authenticated instances of people having

YD G RUN AND THE YGDR UNITES.

149

died and come to life again — instances which no man
in his senses could doubt.

" If this be so," said my opponent, " we must bear
it as best we may ;" and so left me. He had hardly
done so before the speech of Hamlet came into my
mind.

CHAPTER XVII.

BIETH FORMULA.

T HEARD what follows not from Arowhena, but
from Mr Nosnibor and some of the gentlemen who
occasionally dined at the house : they told me that
the Erewhonians believe in pre-existence ; and not
only this (of which I will write more fully in the next
chapter), but they believe that it is of their own free
act and deed in a previous state that they come to be
born into this world at all. They hold that the unborn
are perpetually plaguing and tormenting the married
of both sexes, fluttering about them incessantly, and
giving them no peace either of mind or body until
they have consented to take them under their protec-
tion. If this were not so, this is at least what they urge,
it would be a monstrous freedom for one man to take
with another, to say that he should undergo the chances
and changes of this mortal life without any option in
the matter. No man would have any right to get mar-
ried at all, inasmuch as he can never tell what frightful
misery his doing so may entail forcibly upon a being
who cannot be unhappy as long as he does not exist.
They feel this so strongly that they are resolved to
shift the blame on to other shoulders ; and have
fashioned a long mythology as to the world in which

BIRTH FORMULAL.

the unborn people live, and what they do, and the arts
and machinations to which they have recourse in order
to get themselves into our own world. But of this
more anon : what I would relate here is their manner
of dealing with those who do come.

It is a distinguishing peculiarity of the Erewhonians
that when they profess themselves to be quite certain
about any matter, and avow it as abase on which they are
to build a system of practice, they seldom quite believe
in it ; but instead of coming to an understanding with
themselves, and endeavouring to find out exactly what it
is that commends itself to their judgments as on the
whole most probable, and then chancing it, they con-
tent themselves in nine cases out of ten with saying
that the subject has been examined over and over
again, and assert their faith the more ostentatiously,
and with the more pomp and circumstance, because of
their misgivings ; but they will always abuse those who
would have them examine for themselves, an accusa-
tion of ill health being their favourite weapon. In-
deed, there are few sights at once so pathetic and so
amusing as that of a middle-aged Erewhonian in the
act of smelling a rat about the precincts of a cherished
institution, and stopping his nose to it.

This is what most of them did in this matter of the
unborn, for I cannot (and never could) think that
they seriously believed in their mythology concerning
pre-existence : they did and they did not ; they did
not know themselves what they believed ; all they did
know was that it was a disease not to believe as they
did. The only thing of which they were quite sure
was that it was the pestering of the unborn which
caused them to be brought into this world, and that

152 . ERE WHO N.

they would not be here if they would have only let
peaceable people alone.

It would be hard to disprove this position, and they
might have a good case if they would only leave it
as it stands. But this they will not do ; they must
Lave assurance doubly sure ; they must have the writ-
ten word of the child itself as soon as it is born, giving
the parents indemnity from all responsibility on the
score of its birth, and asserting its own pre-existence.
They have therefore devised something which they call
a birth formula — a document which varies in words
according to the caution of parents, but is much the
same practically in all cases ; for it has been the
business of the Erewhonian lawyers during many ages
to exercise their skill in perfecting it and providing
for every contingency.

These formulae are printed on common paper at
a moderate cost for the poor; but the rich have
them written on parchment and handsomely bound,
so that the getting up of a person's birth formula is a
test of his social position. They commence by setting
forth, That whereas A. B. was a member of the king-
dom of the unborn, where he was well provided for in
every way, and had no cause of discontent, &c., &c,
he did of his own wanton depravity and restlessness
conceive a desire to enter into this present world;
that thereon having taken the necessary steps as set
forth in laws of the unborn kingdom, he did with
malice aforethought set himself to plague and pester
two unfortunate people who had never in the least
wronged him, and who were quite contented and
happy until he conceived this base design against
their peace ; for which wrong he now humbly entreats

BIRTH FORMULA.

153

tlieir pardon. He acknowledges that lie is respon-
sible for all physical blemishes and deficiencies which
may render him answerable to the laws of his country;
that his parents have nothing whatever to do with
any of these things ; and that they have a right to
kill him at once if they be so minded, though he
entreats them to show their marvellous goodness and
clemency by sparing his life. If they will do this,
he promises to be their most obedient and abject
creature during his earlier years, and indeed unto his
life's end, unless they should see fit in their abundant
generosity to remit some portion of his service here-
after. And so the formula continues, going some-
times into very minute details, according to the
fancies of family lawyers, who will not make it any
shorter than they can help.

The deed being thus prepared, on the third or
fourth day after the birth of the child, or as they
call it, the " final importunity," the friends gather
together, and there is a feast held, where they are
all very melancholy — as a general rule, I believe,
quite truly so — and make presents to the father and
mother of the child in order to console them for the
injury which has just been done them by the unborn.
By and by the child himself is brought down by his
nurse, and the company begin to rail upon him, up-
braiding him for his impertinence and asking him
what amends he proposes to make for the wrong that
he has committed, and how he can look for food and
nourishment from those who have perhaps already
been injured by the unborn on some ten or twelve
occasions ; for they say of people with large families,
that they have suffered terrible injuries from the

154

ERE WHO N.

unborn ; till at last, when this has been carried far
enough^ some one suggests the formula, which is
brought forth and solemnly read to the child by the
family straightener. This gentleman is always invited
on these occasions, for the very fact of intrusion into
a peaceful family shows a depravity on the part of
the child which requires his professional services.

On being teased by the reading and tweaked by
the nurse, the child will commonly fall a crying,
which is reckoned a good sign as showing a con-
sciousness of guilt. He is thereon asked, Does he
assent to the formula ? on which, as he still con-
tinues crying and can obviously make no answer,
some one of the friends comes forward and under-
takes to sign the document on his behalf, feeling
sure (so he says) that the child would do it if he
only knew how, and that he will release the pre-
sent signer from his engagement on arriving at
maturity. The friend then inscribes the signature of
the child at the foot of the parchment, which is held
to bind the child as much as though he had signed
it himself. Even this, however, does not fully con-
tent them, for they feel a little uneasy until they
have got the child's own signature after all. So
when he is about fourteen these good people partly
bribe him by promises of greater liberty and good
things, and partly intimidate him through their great
power of making themselves passively unpleasant to
him, so that though there is a show of freedom made,
there is really none, and partly they use the offices
of the teachers in the Colleges of Unreason, till at
last, in one way or another, they take very good care
that he shall sign the paper by which he professes to

BfRTH FORMULM.

to have been a free agent in coming into the world ,
and to take all the responsibility of having done so
on to his own shoulders. And yet, though this docu-
ment is obviously the most important which any one
can sign in his whole life, they will have him do so at
an age when neither they nor the law will for many a
year allow any one else to bind him to the smallest
obligation, no matter how righteously he may owe it,
because they hold him too young to know what he
is about, and do not consider it fair that he should
commit himself to anything that may prejudice him
in after years.

I own that all this seemed rather hard, and not
of a piece with the many admirable institutions exist-
ing among them. I once ventured to say a part of
what I thought about it to one of the Professors of
Unreason. I did it very tenderly, but his justification
of the system was quite out of my comprehension.
I remember asking him whether he did not think it
would do serious harm to a lad's principles, and weaken
his sense of the sanctity of his word, and of truth
generally, that he should be led into entering upon a
solemn engagement which it was so plainly impos-
sible that he should keep even for a single day with
tolerable integrity — whether, in fact, the teachers who
so led him, or who taught anything as a certainty of
which they were themselves uncertain, were not earn-
ing their living by impairing the truth-sense of
their pupils (a delicate organisation mostly), and
by vitiating one of their most sacred instincts. The
professor, who was a delightful person, seemed greatly
surprised at the view which I took, but it had no
influence with him whatsoever. No one, he answered,

156

EREWHON.

expected that the boy either would or could do
all that he undertook; hut the world was full of
compromises ; and there was hardly any engage-
ment which would hear being interpreted literally.
Human language was too gross a vehicle of thought
— thought being incapable of absolute translation.
He added, that as there can be no translation from
one language into another which shall not scant the
meaning somewhat, or enlarge upon it, so there
is no language which can render thought without a
jarring and a harshness somewhere — and so forth; all
of which seemed to come to this in the end, that it
was the custom of the country, and that the Ere-
whonians were a conservative people ; that the boy
would have to begin compromising sooner or later,
and this was part of his education in the art. It was
perhaps to be regretted that compromise should be as
necessary as it was ; still it was necessary, and the
sooner the boy got -to understand it the better for
himself.

But they never tell this to the boy. And when he
begins to find out how largely compromise has entered
into his education, he sometimes compromises himself,
and those belonging to him.

From the book of their mythology about the un-
born I made the extracts which will form the following
chapter.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN.

npIIE Erewhonians say that we are drawn through
life backwards ; or again, that we go onwards
into the future as into a dark corridor. Time walks
beside us and flings back shutters as we advance ; but
the light thus given often dazzles us, and deepens
the darkness which is in front. We can see but
little at a time, and heed that little far less than our
apprehension of what we shall see next ; ever peering
curiously through the glare of the present into the
gloom of the future, we presage the leading lines of
that which is before us by faintly reflected lights
from dull mirrors that are behind, and stumble on as
we may till the trap-door opens beneath us and we
are gone.

They say at other times that the future and the past
are as a panorama upon two rollers ; that which is on
the roller of the future unwraps itself on to the roller
of the past ; we cannot hasten it, and we may not
stay it ; we must see all that is unfolded to us whether
it be good or ill ; and what we have seen once we may
see again no more. It is ever unwinding and being
wound ; we catch it in transition for a moment, and call
it present ; our flustered senses gather what impres-
sion they can, and we guess at what is coming by

153

EREWHON.

the tenor of that which we have seen. The same
hand has painted the whole picture, and the incidents
vary little, rivers, woods, plains, mountains, towns
and peoples, love, sorrow, and death : yet the interest
never flags, and we look hopefully for some good for-
tune, or fearfully lest our own faces be shown us
as figuring in something terrible. When the scene is
past we think we know it, though there is so much
to see, and so little time to see it, that our conceit of
knowledge as regards the past is for the most part
poorly founded ; neither do we care about it greatly,
save in so far as it may affect the future, wherein
our interest mainly lies.

The Erewhonians say it was by chance only that
the earth and stars and all the heavenly worlds began
to roll from east to west, and not from west to east,
and in like manner they say it is by chance that man
is drawn through life with his face to the past in-
stead of to the future. For the future is there as much
as the past, only that we may not see it. Is it not
in the loins of the past, and must not the past alter
before the future can do so ?

Sometimes again they say that there was a race of
men tried upon the earth once, who knew the future
better than the past, but that they died in a twelve-
month from the misery which their knowledge caused
them ; and if any were to be born too prescient now,
he would be culled out by natural selection, before
he had time to transmit so peace-destroying a faculty
to his descendants.

Strange fate for man ! He must perish if he get
that, which he must perish if he strive not after.
If he strive not after it he is no better than the

THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN.

159

brutes, if he get it lie is more miserable than the
devils.

Having waded through many chapters like the above,
I came at last to the unborn themselves, and found that
they were held to be souls pure and simple, having
no actual bodies, but living in a sort of gaseous yet
more or less anthropomorphic existence, like that of a
ghost; they have thus neither flesh nor bloodnor warmth.
Nevertheless, they are supposed to have local habita-
tions and cities wherein they dwell, though these are as
unsubstantial as their inhabitants; they are even thought
to eat and drink some thin ambrosial sustenance, and
generally to be capable of doing whatever mankind
can do, only after a visionary ghostly fashion as in a
dream. On the other hand, as long as they remain
where they are they never die — the only form of death
in the unborn world being the leaving it for our own.
They are believed to be extremely numerous, far more
so than mankind. They arrive from unknown planets,
full grown, in large batches at a time ; but they can
only leave the unborn world by taking the steps neces-
sary for their arrival here— which is, in fact, by suicide.

They ought to be an exceedingly happy people, for
they have no extremes of good or ill fortune ; never
marrying, but living in a state much like that fabled
by the poets as the primitive condition of mankind.
In spite of this, however, they are incessantly com-
plaining; they know that we in this world have
bodies, and indeed they know everything else about
us, for they move among us whithersoever they will,
and can read our thoughts, as well as survey our ac-
tions, at pleasure. One would think that this would
be quite enough for them; and most of them are

i6o

EREWHON.

alive to tlie desperate risk which the}'' will run by in-
dulging themselves in that body with "sensible warm
motion " which they so much desire ; nevertheless,
there are some to whom the ennui of a disembodied
existence is so intolerable that they will venture any-
thing for a change; so they resolve to quit. The
conditions which they must accept are so uncertain,
that none but the most foolish of the unborn will
consent to take them ; and it is from these, and these
only, that our own ranks are recruited.

When they have finally made up their minds to
leave, they must go before the magistrate of the
nearest town and sign an affidavit of their desire to
quit their then existence. On their having clone this,
the magistrate reads them the conditions which they
must accept, and which are so long that I can only
extract some of the principal points, which are
mainly the following : — •

First, they must take a potion which will destroy
their memory and sense of identity ; they must go
into the world helpless, and without a will of their
own; they must draw lots for their dispositions before
they go, and take it, such as it is, for better or worse —
neither are they to be allowed any choice in the mat-
ter of the body which they so much desire ; they are
simply allotted by chance, and without appeal, to
two people whom it is their business to find and
pester until they adopt them. Who these are to be,
whether rich or poor, kind or unkind, healthy or
diseased, there is no knowing ; they have, in fact, to
entrust themselves for many years to the care of those
for whose good constitution and good sense they have
no sort of guarantee.

THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN. 161

It is curious to read the lectures which the wiser
heads give to those who are meditating a change.
They talk with them as we talk with a spendthrift,
and with about as much success.

" To be born," they say, " is a felony — it is a capi-
tal crime, for which sentence may be executed at any
moment after the commission of the offence. You
may perhaps happen to live for some seventy or eighty
•years, but what is that, in comparison with the eter-
nity which you now enjoy? And even though the
sentence were commuted, and you were allowed to
live on for ever, you would in time become so terribly
weary of life, that execution would be the greatest
mercy to you. Consider the infinite risk ; to be born
of wicked parents and trained in vice ! to be born of
silly parents, and trained to unrealities ! of parents
who regard you as a sort of chattel or property, belong-
ing more to them than to yourself ! Again, you may
draw utterly unsympathetic parents, who will never be
able to understand you, and who will thwart you as
long as they can to the utmost of their power (as a
hen when she has hatched a duckling), and then call
you ungrateful because you do not love them, or
parents who may look upon you as a thing to be
cowed while it is still young, lest it should give them
trouble hereafter by having wishes and feelings of its
own.

u In later life, when you have been finally allowed
to pass muster as a full member of the world, you
will yourself become liable to the pesterings of the
unborn — and a very happy life you may be led in
consequence ! For we solicit so strongly that a few
only — nor these the best — can refuse us ; and yet not

L

EREWHON.

to refuse is much the same as going into partnership
with half a dozen different people about whom one
can know absolutely nothing beforehand — not even
whether one is going into partnership with men or
women, nor with how many of either. Delude not
yourself with thinking that you will be wiser than
your parents. You may be an age in advance of them,
but unless you are one of the great ones you will still
be an age behind your children.

" Imagine what it must be to have an unborn quar-
tered upon you, who is of an entirely different tempera-
ment and disposition to your own ; nay, half a dozen
such, who will not love you though you have stinted
yourself in a thousand ways to provide for their
comfort and well-being, — who will forget all your
self-sacrifice, and of whom you may never be sure that
they are not bearing a grudge against you for errors
of judgment into which you may have fallen, though
you had hoped that such had been long since atoned
for. Ingratitude such as this is not uncommon, yet
fancy*what it must be to bear ! It is hard upon the
duckling to have been hatched by a hen, but is it not
also hard upon the hen to have hatched the duckling ?

" Consider it again, we pray you, not for our sake
but for your own. Your initial character you must
draw by lot ; but whatever it is, it can only come to
a tolerably successful development after long training;
remember that over that training you will have no
control. It is possible, and even probable, that what-
ever you may get in after life which is of real plea-
sure and service to you, will have to be won in spite
of, rather than by the help of, those whom you are
now about to pester, and that you will only win your

THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN. 163

freedom after years of a painful struggle in which, it
will be hard to say whether you have suffered most
injury, or inflicted it.

" Remember also, that if you go into the world you
will have free will ; that you will be obliged to have it,
that there is no escaping it, that you will be fettered to
it during your whole life, and must on every occasion
do that which on the whole seems best to you at any
given time, no matter whether you are right or wrong
in choosing it. Your mind will be a balance for con-
siderations, and your action will go with the heavier
scale. How it shall fall will depend upon the kind
of scales which you may have drawn at birth, the
bias which they will have obtained by use, and
the weight of the immediate considerations. If the
scales were good to start with, and if they have not been
outrageously tampered with in childhood, and if the
combinations into which you enter are average ones,
you may come off well ; but there are too many "ifs"
in this, and with the failure of any one of them your
misery is assured. Reflect on this, and remembef that
should the ill come upon you, you will have yourself
to thank, for it is your own choice to be born, and
there is no compulsion in the matter.

" Not that we deny the existence of pleasures among
mankind ; there is a certain show of sundry phases of
contentment which may even amount to a very con-
siderable happiness; but mark how they are distri-
buted over a man's life, belonging, all the keenest of
them, to the fore part, and few indeed to the after.
Can there be any pleasure worth purchasing with the
miseries of a decrepit age ? If you are good, strong,
and handsome, you have a fine fortune indeed at

164

ERE WHO N.

twenty, but how much of it will be left at sixty ? For
you must live on your capital ; there is no investing
your powers so that you may get a small annuity of
life for ever : you must eat up your principal bit by
bit, and be tortured by seeing it grow continually
smaller and smaller, even though you happen to escape
being rudely robbed of it by crime or casualty. Re-
member, too, that there never yet was a man of forty
who would not come back into the world of the unborn
if he could do so with decency and honour. Being in
the world he will as a general rule stay till he is forced
to go ; but do you think that he would consent to be
born again, and re-live his life, if he had the offer of
doing so ? Do not think it. If he could so alter the
past as that he should never have come into being at
all, do you not think that he would do it very gladly ?
"What was it that one of their own poets meant, if it
was not this, when he cried out upon the day in which
he was born, and the night in which it was said there
is a man child conceived ? £ For now ' he savs £ I
should have lain still and been quiet, I should have
slept ; then had I been at rest with kings and counsel-
lors of the earth, which built desolate places for them-
selves; or with princes that had gold, who filled their
houses with silver; or as an hidden untimely birth, I had
not been ; as infants which never saw light. There the
wicked cease' from troubling, and the weary are at
rest.' Be very sure that the guilt of being born car-
ries this punishment at times to all men ; but how
can they ask for pity, or complain of any mischief that,
may befall them, having entered open-eyed into the
snare ?

" One word more and we have done. If any faint

THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN. 165

remembrance, as of a dream, flit in some puzzled mo-
ment across your brain, and you shall feel that the
potion which is to be given you shall not have done
its work, and the memory of this existence which you
are leaving endeavours vainly to return; we say in
such a moment, when you clutch at the dream but it
eludes your grasp, and you watch it, as Orpheus
watched Eurydice, gliding back again into the twi-
light kingdom, fly — fly — if you can remember the
advice — to the haven of your present and immediate
duty, taking shelter incessantly in the work which
you have in hand. This much you may perhaps recall ;
and this, if you will imprint it deeply upon your every
faculty, will be most likely to bring you safely and
honourably home through the trials that are before
you. *

This is the fashion in which they reason with
those who would be for leaving them, but it is seldom
that they do much good, for none but the unquiet
and unreasonable ever think of being born, and those
who are foolish enough to think of it are generally
foolish enough to do it. Finding therefore that
they can do no more, the friends follow weeping to
the courthouse of the chief magistrate, where the one
who wishes to be born declares solemnly and openly
that he accepts the conditions attached to his de-
cision. On this he is presented with the potion, which
immediately destroys his memory and sense of iden-
tity, and dissipates the thin gaseous tenement which
he has inhabited : he becomes a bare vital principle,

* The myth above alluded to exists in Erewhon with changed names,
and considerable modifications. I have taken the liberty of referring
to the story as familiar to ourselves.

ERE WHO N.

not to be perceived by human senses, nor to be by
any chemical test appreciated. He has but one
instinct, which is that he is to go to such and such
a place, where he will find two persons whom he is to
importune till they consent to undertake him ; but
whether he is to find these persons among the race of
Chowbok or the Erewhonians themselves is not for
him to choose.

CHAPTER XIX.

WHAT THEY MEAN BY IT.

T HAVE given the above mythology at some length,
but it is only a small part of what they have upon
the subject. My first feeling on reading it was that
any amount of folly on the part of the unborn in com-
ing here was justified by a desire to escape from such
intolerable prosing. The mythology is obviously an
unfair and exaggerated representation of life and
things ; and had its authors been so minded they could
have easily drawn a picture which should err as much
on the bright side as this does on the dark. No
Erewhonian believes that the world is as black as it
has been here painted, but it is one of their pecu-
liarities that they very often do not believe or
mean things which they profess to regard as indis-
putable. In the present instance their professed views
concerning the unborn have arisen from their desire
to prove that people have been presented with the
gloomiest possible picture of their own prospects
before they came here ; otherwise, they could hardly
say to one whom they are going to punish for an
affection of the heart or brain that it is all his own
doiug. In practice they modify their theory to a.
considerable extent, and seldom refer to the birth
formula except in extreme cases ; for the force of

EREWHON.

habit, or what not, gives many of them a kindly in-
terest even in creatures who have so much wronged
them as the unborn have clone ; and though a man
generally hates the unwelcome little stranger for the
first twelve months, he is apt to mollify (according to
his lights) as time goes on, and sometimes he will
become inordinately attached to the beings whom he
is pleased to call his children.

Of course, according to Erewhonian premises, it
would serve people right to be punished and scouted,
for moral and intellectual diseases as much as for
physical, but here they stop short half-way. They see
that the movements of the body are within a person's
own control, whereon they conclude that its health
is so also ; they are keenly alive to the consequences
of a physical deterioration, and are therefore inexor-
able upon this head, resting upon their mythology of
the unborn; but they shrink from going further,
because they feel that few have either had power over
their own original disposition, or been able to escape
from free will : they are therefore loath to give scout-
ing a logical position in their theories concerning
moral delinquency.

In spite, however, of modifications in practice of a
theory which is itself revolting, the relations between
children and parents in that country are less happy
than in Europe. It was rarely that I saw cases of
real hearty and intense affection between the old
people and the young ones. Here and there I did so,
and was quite sure that the children, even at the age
of twenty, were fonder of their parents than they
were of any one else ; and that of their own inclina-
tion, being free to choose what company they would.

WHA T THE Y MEAN B Y IT.

tliey would often choose that of their father and
mother. The straightener's carriage was rarely seen
at the door of those houses. I saw two or three such
cases during the time that I remained in the country,
and cannot express the pleasure which I derived from
a sight suggestive of so much goodness and wisdom
and forbearance, so richly rewarded ; yet I firmly
believe that the same thing would happen in nine
families out of ten if the parents were merely to
remember how they felt when they were young, and
actually to behave towards their children as they would
have had their own parents behave towards them-
selves. But this, which would appear to be so simple
and obvious, seems also to be a thing which not one
in a hundred thousand is able to put in practice. It
is only the very great and good who have any living
faith in the simplest axioms ; and there are few who
are so holy as to feel that 19 and 13 make 32 as
certainly as 2 and 2 make 4.

I am quite sure that if this narrative should ever
fall into Erewhonian hands, it will be said that what
I have written about the relations between parents
and children being seldom satisfactory is an infamous
perversion of facts, and that in truth there are few
young people who do not feel happier in the society of
their nearest relations * than in any other. Mr JSTos-
nibor would be sure to say this. Yet I cannot refrain
from expressing an opinion that he would be a good
deal embarrassed if his deceased parents were to re-
appear and propose to pay him a six months' visit. I
doubt whether there are many things which he would

* Is it not time that the old word "kinsman" should be reinstated.,
and oust the interloper "relation" ?

170 ERE WHO N.

regard as a greater infliction. They had died at a ripe
old age some twenty years before I came to know
him, so the case is an extreme one; but surely if they
had treated him with what in his youth he had felt to
be true unselfishness, his face would brighten when
he thought of them to the end of his life.

In the one or two beautiful cases of true family
affection which I met with, I am sure that the young
people who were so genuinely fond of their fathers
and mothers at eighteen, would at sixty be perfectly
delighted were they to get the chance of welcoming
them as their guests. There is nothing which could
please them better, except perhaps to watch the hap-
piness of their own children and grandchildren. This
is how things should be. It is not an impossible
ideal ; it is one which actually does exist in some few
cases, and might exist in almost all, with a little
more patience and forbearance upon the parents' part;
but it is rare at present — so rare that they have a
proverb which I can only translate in a very round-
about way, but which says that the great happiness
of some people in a future state would consist in
watching the discomforts to which their parents were
subjected on returning to an eternal companionship
with their grandfathers and grandmothers ; whilst
" compulsory affection " is the idea which lies at the
root of their word for the deepest anguish. There is
no talisman in the word "parent" which can generate
miracles of affection, and I can well believe that my
own child might find it less of a calamity to lose
both Arowhena and myself when he is six years old,
than to find us again when he is sixty — a sentence
which I would not pen did I not feel that by doing so

WHA T THE Y MEAN BY IT.

171

I was giving him something like a hostage, or at any
rate putting a fearful weapon into his hands against
me, should my selfishness exceed reasonable limits.

Money is at the bottom of all this to a great extent.
If the parents would put their children in the way of
earning a competence earlier than they do, the children
would soon become self-supporting and independent.
As it is, under the present system, the young ones
get old enough to have all manner of legitimate
wants (that is, if they have any " go " about them) be-
fore they have learnt the means of earning money to
pay for them ; hence they must either do without
them, or take more money than the parents can be
expected to spare. This is due chiefly to the
schools of Unreason, where a boy is taught npon
hypothetical principles, as I will explain hereafter;
spending years in being incapacitated for doing this,
that, or the other (he hardly knows what himself),
during all which time he ought to have been actually
doing the thing itself, beginning at the lowest grades,
and picking it up, and rising according to the energy
which is in him. These schools of Unreason sur-
prised me much. It would be easy to fall into pseudo
utilitarianism, and I would fain believe that the
system may be good for the children of very rich
parents, or for those who show a natural instinct to
acquire hypothetical lore; but the misery was that
their Ydgrun-worship required all people with any
pretence to respectability to send their children to
some one or other of these schools, mulcting them of
years of money. It astonished me to see what sacri-
fices the parents would make in order to render their
children as nearly useless as possible ; and it was

172

ERE WHO N.

hard to say whether the old suffered most from the
expense which they were thus put to, or the young
from heing deliberately swindled in some of the most
important branches of human inquiry, and directed
into false channels or left to drift, in the great
majority of cases. With the less well-dressed classes
the harm was not so great; for among these, at
about ten years old, the child has to begin doing
something : if he is intelligent he makes his way up,
and will not be kept down; if he is not, he stops
where he is, which is the best for every one concerned.
People find their level as a rule ; and though they do
unfortunately sometimes miss it, it is in the main
true that those who have valuable qualities are per-
ceived to have them and can sell them. I think that
the Erewhonians are beginning to become aware of
these things, for there was much talk about putting
a tax upon all parents whose children were not earn-
ing a competence according to their degrees by the
time they were twenty-five years old. I am sure that
if they will have the courage to carry it through they
will never regret it; for the parents will take care
that the children shall begin earning money (which
means u doing good" to society) at an early age;
then the children will be independent early, and they
will not press on the parents, nor the parents on
them, and they will like each other better than they
do now.

This is the true philanthropy. He who makes a
colossal fortune in the hosiery trade, and by his
energy has succeeded in reducing the price of woollen
goods by the thousandth part of a penny in the
pound: — this man is worth ten professional philan-

WITA T THE Y MEAN B Y IT.

173

tliropists. So strongly are the Erewlionians im-
pressed with this, that if a man has made a fortune
of over £20,000 a year they exempt him from all
taxation, considering him as a work of art, and too
precious to be meddled with ; they say, " How very
much he must have done for society before society
could have been prevailed upon to give him so much
money ; " so magnificent an organisation overawes
them ; they regard it as a thing dropped from heaven.

i{ Money," they say, " is the symbol of duty, it is
the sacrament of having done for mankind that which
mankind wanted. Mankind may not be a very good
judge, but there is no better." This used to shock
me at first, when I remembered that it had been said
on high authority that they who have riches shall
enter hardly into the kingdom of heaven; but the
influence of Erewhon had made me begin to see
things in a new light, and I could not help thinking
that they who have not riches shall enter more hardly
still. People oppose money to culture, and imply
that if a man has spent his time in making money
he will not be cultivated — fallacy of fallacies!
As though there could be a greater aid to culture
than the having earned an honourable independence,
and as though any amount of culture will do much
for the man who is penniless, except make him feel
his position more deeply. The young man who was
told to sell all his goods and give to the poor, must
have been an entirely exceptional person if the advice
was given wisely, either for him or for the poor;
how much more often does it happen that we perceive
a man to have all sorts of good qualities except money,
and feel that his real duty lies in getting every

174

ERE WHO N.

halfpenny that he can persuade others to pay him
for his services, and becoming rich. It is only in
so far as the love of money implies the want of
money, that it is the root of all evil. The above may
sound irreverent, but it is conceived in the spirit of the
most utter reverence for those things which do alone
deserve it — that is, for the things which are, which
mould us and fashion us, be they what they may ; for
the things that have power to punish us, and which
will punish us if we do not heed them ; for our mas-
ters therefore. But I am drifting away from my story.

They have another plan about which they are
making a great noise and fuss, much as some are-
doing with women's rights in England. A party of
extreme radicals have professed themselves unable to
decide upon the superiority of age or youth. At pre-
sent all goes on the supposition that it is desirable
to make the young old as soon as possible. Some
would have it that this is wrong, and that the object
of education should be to keep the old young as long
as possible. They say that each age should take it
turn in turn about, week by week, one week the old
to be topsawyers, and the other the young, drawing
the line at thirty-five years of age ; but they insist
that the young should be allowed to inflict corporal
chastisement on the old, without which the old would
be quite incorrigible. In any European country this
would be out of the question; but it is not so
there, for the straighteners are constantly ordering
people to be flogged, so that they are familiar with
the notion. I do not suppose that the idea will be
ever acted upon; but its having been even mooted
is enough to show their utter perversion of mind.

CHAPTER XX.

THE COLLEGES OF UNKEASON.

T HAD now been a visitor with the Nosnibors for some
five or six months, and though I had frequently-
proposed to leave them and take apartments of my
own, they would not hear of my doing so. I suppose
they thought I should be more likely to fall in love
with Zulora if I remained but it was my affection for
Arowhena that kept me.

Daring all this time both Arowhena and myself
had been dreaming, and drifting towards an avowed
attachment, but had not dared to face the real diffi-
culties of the position. Gradually, however, matters
came to a crisis in spite of ourselves, and we got to
see the true state of the case with most unpleasant
distinctness. I remember that one evening we were
sitting in the garden, and I had been trying in every
stupid roundabout way to get her to say that she
should be at any rate sorry for a man, if he really
loved a woman who would not marry him. I had
been stammering and blushing, and been as silly as
any one could be, and I suppose had pained her by
fishing for pity for myself in such a transparent way,
and saying nothing about her standing in need of
it; at any rate, she turned upon me with a sweet
sad smile and said, " Sorry? I am sorry for myself; I

176 EREWHON^

am sorry for you; and I am sorry for every one."
The words had no sooner crossed her lips than she
bowed her head, gave me a look as though I were to
make no answer, and left me.

The words were few and simple in themselves, but
the manner with which they were uttered was in-
effable : the scales fell from my eyes, and I felt that
I had no manner of right to try and induce her to
infringe one of the most inviolable customs of her
country, as she needs must do if she were to marry
me. I sat for a long while thinking, and when I
remembered the sin and shame and misery which an
unrighteous marriage — for as such it would be held in
Erewhon — would entail, I became thoroughly ashamed
of myself for having been so long self-blinded. I
write coldly now, but I suffered keenly at the time,
and should probably retain a much more vivid recol-
lection of what I felt had not all ended so happily.

As for giving up the idea of marrying Arowhena, it
never so much as entered my head to do so : the
solution must be found in some other direction than
this. The idea of waiting till somebody married
Zulora was to be no less summarily dismissed. To
marry Arowhena at once in Erewhon — this had al-
ready been abandoned : there remained therefore but
one alternative, and that was to run away with her,
and get her with me to Europe, where there would be
no bar to our union save my own impecuniosity, a
matter which gave me no uneasiness. To this obvious
and simple plan I could see but two objections that
deserved the name, — the first, that perhaps Arowhena
would not come; the second, that it was almost im-
possible for me to escape even alone, for the king had

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON.

177

himself told me that I was to consider myself a
prisoner on parole, and that the first sign of my
endeavouring to escape would cause me to be sent to
one of the hospitals for incurables. Besides, I did not
know the geography of the country, and even were I
to try and find my way back, I should be discovered
long before I had reached the pass over which I had
come. How then could I hope to be able to take
Arowhena with me? For days and days I turned
these difficulties over in my mind, and at last hit upon
as wild a plan as was ever suggested by extremity.
This was to meet the second difficulty : the first gave
me less uneasiness, for when Arowhena and I next
met after our interview in the garden I could see that
she had suffered not less acutely than myself.

I resolved that I would have another interview with
her — the last for the present — that I would then leave
her, and set to work upon maturing my plan as fast as
possible. We got a chance of being alone together,
and then I gave myself the loose rein, and told her
how passionately and devotedly I loved her. She said
but little in return, but her tears (which I could hardly
help answering with my own) and the little she did
say were quite enough to show me that I should meet
with no obstacle from her. Then I put the case before
her, that our marriage in Erewhonwas out of the ques-
tion, and asked her whether she would run a great
and terrible risk which we should share in common, if
in case of success I could take her to my own people,
to the home of my mother and sisters, who would be
always good to her, and would treat her as one of
themselves. At the same time I pointed out that the
chances of failure were far greater than those of suc-

M

i

178 ERE WHO N.

cess, and that the probability was that even though I
could get so far as to carry my design into execution,
it would end in death to us both.

I was not mistaken in her ; she said that she be-
lieved I loved her as much as she loved me, and that
she would brave anything if I could only assure her that
what I proposed would not be thought dishonourable
in England ; she could not live without me, and would
rather die with me than alone ; that death was perhaps
the best for us both ; that I must plan, and that when
the hour came I was to send for her, and trust her not
to fail me ; and so after many tears and embraces, we
tore ourselves away.

I then left the Nosnibors, took a lodging in the
town, and became melancholy to my heart's content.
Arowhena and I used to see each other sometimes,
for I had taken to going regularly to the musical
banks, but Mrs Nosnibor and Zulora both treated me
with considerable coldness, I felt sure that they sus-
pected me. Arowhena looked miserable, and I saw that,
her purse was now always as full as she could fill it
with the musical bank money — much fuller than of old.
Then the horrible thought occurred to me that her
health might possibly break down, and that she might
be subjected to a criminal prosecution. Oh ! how I
hated Erewhon at that time.

I was still received at court, but my good looks
were beginning to fail me, and I was not such an adept
at concealing the effects of pain as the Erewhonians are.
I could see that my friends began to look concerned
about me, and was obliged to take a leaf out of
Manama's, book, and pretend to have developed a taste
for drinking. I even consulted a straightener as though

I

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON. » 179

this were so, and submitted to much discomfort. This
made matters better for a time, but I could see that
my friends thought less highly of my constitution as
my flesh began to fall away.

I was told that the poor made an outcry about my
pension, and I saw a stinging article in an anti-minis-
terial paper, in which the writer went so far as to say
that my having light hair reflected little credit upon
me, inasmuch as I had been reported to have said that
it was a common thing in the country from which I
came. I have reason to believe that Mr Nosnibor himself ■
inspired this article. Presently it came round to me
that the king had begun to dwell upon my having
been possessed of a watch, and to say that I ought to
be treated medicinally for having told him a lie about
the balloons. I saw misfortune gathering round me
in every direction, and felt that I should have need
of all my wits and a good many more, if I was to steer
myself and Arowhena to a good conclusion. . But I
never lost sight of my plan.

There were some who continued to show me kind-
ness, and strange to say, I received the most from
the very persons from whom I should have least
expected it — I mean from the cashiers of the musical
banks. I had made the acquaintance of several of
these persons, and now that I frequented their bank,
they were inclined to make a good deal of me. One
of them, seeing that I was thoroughly out of health,
though of course he pretended not to notice it,
suggested that I should take a little change of air ancl
go down with him to one of the principal towns, which
was some two or three days' journey from the metro-
polis, ancl one great seat of the Colleges of Unreason ;

i8o ERE WHOM

he assured me that I should be delighted with what I
saw, and that I should receive a most hospitable wel-
come. I determined therefore to accept the invita-
tion.

We started on the following morning, and after a
night on the road, we arrived at our destination
towards evening. It was now autumn, and as nearly
as might be twelve months since I had started with
Chowbok on my expedition, but it seemed more like
twelve years. The trees had already begun to change
their colour, and the air had become cool and grate-
ful. After having lived so many months in the
metropolis, the sight of the country, and the country
villages through which we passed refreshed me greatly,
but I could not forget my situation. The last five
miles or so were the most beautiful part of the jour-
ney, for the country became more undulating, and the
woods were more extensive ; but the first sight of the
city of the colleges itself was the most delightful of
all. I cannot imagine that there can be any fairer in
the whole world, and I expressed my pleasure to my
companion, and thanked him for having brought me.
We drove to an inn in the middle of the town, and
then while it was still light my friend the cashier,
whose name was Thims, took me for a stroll in the
streets and in the court-yards of the principal colleges.
Their beauty and interest were extreme; it was im-
possible to see them without being attracted towards
them; and I thought to myself that he must be
indeed an ill-grained and ungrateful person who can
have been a member of one of these colleges without
retaining an affectionate feeling towards it for the
rest of his life. All the misgivings which I had felt

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON. i8f

concerning much that I had heard gave way at once
upon my seeing the beauty and venerable appearance
of this delightful city. For half an hour or so I for-
got both myself and Arowhena.

After supper Mr Thims told me a good deal about
the system of education which is here practised. I
already knew a part of what I heard, but much was
new to me, and I obtained a better idea of the Ere-
whonian position than I had done hitherto : neverthe-
less there were parts of the scheme of which I could not
comprehend the fitness, although I fully admit that
this inability was probably the result of my having been
myself trained so very differently, and to my being
then much out of sorts.

The main feature in their system is the prominence
which they give to a study which I can only translate
by the word u hypothetics." They argue thus — that
to teach a boy merely the nature of the things which
exist in the world around him, and about which he
will have to be conversant during his whole life, would
be giving him but a narrow and shallow conception
of the universe, which it is urged might contain all
manner of things which are not now to be found
therein. To open his eyes to these possibilities, and
so to prepare him for all sorts of emergencies, is the
object of this system of hypothetics. To imagine a
set of utterly strange and impossible contingencies,
and require the youths to give intelligent answers to
the questions that arise therefrom, is reckoned the fit-
test conceivable way of preparing them for the actual
conduct of their affairs in after life.

Thus they are taught what is called the hypotheti-
cal language for many of their best years — a language

182

EREWHON.

whicli was originally composed at a time when the
country was in a very different state of civilisation to
what it is in at present, a state which has long since
exploded and been superseded. Many valuable maxims
and noble thoughts which were at one time concealed
in it have become current in their modern literature,
and have been translated over and over again into the
language now spoken. Surely then it would seem to
be enough that the study of the original language
should be consigned to the few whose instincts led
them naturally to pursue it. But the Erewhonians
think differently ; the store they set by it is perfectly
astonishing; they will even give any one a main-
tenance for life if he attains a considerable proficiency
in the study ; nay, they will spend years in learning
to translate some of their own good poetry into the
hypothetical language, to do which with fluency is
reckoned a distinguishing mark of a scholar and a
gentleman. Heaven forbid that I should be flippant,
but it appeared to me to be a very wanton waste of
good human energy that men should spend years and
years in the perfection of so barren an exercise, when
their own civilisation presented actual living problems
by the hundred which cried aloud for solution and
would have paid the solver handsomely; but people
know their own affairs best. If the youths chose it
for themselves I should have wondered less ; but they
do not choose it, they have it thrust upon them, and
for the most part are disinclined towards it. I can
only say that all I heard in defence of the system
was insufficient to make me think very highly of its
general advantages.

The arguments in favour of the deliberate develop-

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON. 183

ment of the unreasoning faculties were much more
cogent. But here they depart from the principles on
which they justify their study of hypothetics; for they
base the importance which they assign to hypothetics
upon the fact of their being a preparation for the
extraordinary, while their study of Unreason rests
upon its developing those faculties which are required
for the daily conduct of affairs. Hence their profes-
sorships of Inconsistency and Evasion, in both of
which studies the youths are most carefully examined
before being allowed to proceed to their degree in
hypothetics. The more " earnest " and " conscien-
tious " students attain to a proficiency in these sub-
jects which is quite surprising : there is hardly any
inconsistency so glaring but they soon learn to defend
it, or injunction so clear that they cannot find some
pretext for disregarding it. I saw the lecture-rooms
of both these professors. Over the door of the
one was written, " Consistency is a vice which
degrades human nature and levels man with the
brute ; " over the other, "It is the glory of the
parliament to make a law — it is the glory of the
minister to evade it."

Life, they urge, would be intolerable if men were
to be guided in all they did by reason and reason
only. Reason betrays men into the drawing of hard
and fast lines, and to the defining by language —
language being like the sun, which reareth and then
scorcheth. Extremes are alone logical, but they are
almost invariably absurd ; the mean is illogical or
unreasonable, but it is better than the purely reason-
able ; in fact there are no follies and no unreasonable-
nesses so great as those which can apparently be

ERE WHOM.

irrefragably defended by reason itself. There is hardly
an error into which men might not easily be led if
they based their conduct upon reason only. Eeason
might very possibly abolish the double currency ;
it might even attack the personality of Hope and
Justice. Besides, people have such a strong natural
bias towards it that they will seek it for themselves
and act upon it quite as much as or more than is
good for them : there is no need of encouraging
reason. With unreason the case is different. She is
the natural complement of reason, without whose
existence reason itself were non-existent. If then
reason would be non-existent were there no such
thing as unreason, surely it follows that the more
unreason there is, the more reason there must be also?
Hence the necessity for the development of unreason,
even in the interests of reason herself. Far be it
from them to undervalue reason : none can be more
deeply impressed than they are, that if the double
currency cannot be most rigorously deduced as a
necessary consequence of human reason, the double
currency should cease forthwith ; but they say that it
must be deduced from no narrow and exclusive view of
reason which should deprive that admirable faculty of
the one-half of its own existence. Unreason is a part
of reason ; it must therefore be allowed its full share
in stating the initial conditions.

The above is a brief summary of much that I
heard from Mr Thims. I confess that he said some
things which were new to me, and half converted me
to the science of unreason, but I could not get over
the hypothetics, especially the turning their own good
poetry into the hypothetical language. Tn the course of

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON. 185

my stay I met one youth, who told me that for four-
teen years the hypothetical language had been almost
the only thing that he had been taught, although he
had never (to his credit, as it seemed to me) shown
the slightest aptitude towards it, while he had been
endowed with not inconsiderable abilities for several
other branches of human learning. He assured me
that he would never open another hypothetical book
after he had taken his degree, but would follow out
the bent of his own inclinations. This was well enough,
but who could give him his fourteen years back again ?

The Erewhonians must reap harm from such a
system ; but they cannot see it. They are like a man
who has had an income of a hundred a year all his
life when he might as easily have had double, only he
does not know it. He never has had double, therefore
he does not feel his loss.

I sometimes wondered how it was that the mischief
done was so little apparent as it was, and that the
young men and women grew up as sensible and
goodly as they did, in spite of the attempts almost
deliberately made to warp and stunt their growth.
Many doubtless received irreparable damage, from which
they suffered to their life's end; but many seemed
little or none the worse, and some almost the better.
The reason would seem to be that the natural instinct
of the lads in most cases so absolutely rebelled
against their training, that do what the teachers
might they could never get them to pay serious heed
to it. The consequence was the boys only lost their
time, and not so much of this as might have been
expected, for in their hours of leisure they were
actively engaged in exercises and sports which de-

186

ERE WHO N.

veloped their physical nature, and made them at any
rate strong and healthy ; also, being keen and intel-
ligent they kept their eyes and ears constantly open
to everything which interested them, and so picked
up all manner of really useful knowledge uncon-
sciously. Moreover those who had any special tastes
could not be restrained from developing them : they
would learn what they wanted to learn and liked, in
spite of obstacles which seemed rather to urge them
on than to discourage them, while for those who had
no special aptitude for anything, the loss of time was
of comparatively little moment ; but in spite of these
alleviations of the mischief, I cannot doubt that
infinite damage was done to the children of the sub-
wealthy classes. The poorer children suffered far
less ; destruction and death say that they have heard
the sound of wisdom with their ears 3 in many respects
poverty has done so also.

On the morning after my arrival Mr Thims took me
the round of the city, which delighted me more and
more at every turn. I dare not trust myself with any
attempt at description of the exquisite beauty of the
different colleges, and their walks and gardens. Truly
in these things alone there must be a hallowing and
refining influence which is in itself half an education,
and which no amount of error can wholly spoil. I was
introduced to many of the professors, who showed me
every hospitality and kindness ; nevertheless I could
hardly avoid a sort of suspicion that some of those
whom I was taken to see had been so long engrossed
in their own study of hypothetics that they had
become the exact antitheses of the Athenians in the
days of St. Paul; for whereas the Athenians spent

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON. 187

their lives in nothing save to see and to hear some new
thing, there were some here who seemed to devote
themselves to the avoidance of every opinion with
which they were not perfectly familiar, and who regarded
their own brains as a sort of sanctuary, to the which
if an opinion had once resorted, none other was to
touch, it. I need hardly say however that such persons
were quite exceptional.

It was during my visit to this city that I learnt the
particulars of the revolution which had ended in the
destruction of all machinery. Mr Thims took me to
the rooms of one gentleman who had a great reputa-
tion for learning, hut who was also, so Mr Thims told
me, rather a dangerous person, inasmuch as he had
attempted to introduce an adverb into the hypotheti-
cal language. He had heard of my watch and been
exceedingly anxious to see me, for he was accounted
the most learned antiquary in Erewhon on the subjeet
of mechanical lore. We fell to talking upon the
subject, and when I left he gave me a reprinted copy
of the work which brought the revolution about. It
had taken place some five hundred years before my
arrival : people had long become thoroughly used to
the change, although at the time that it was made the
country was plunged into the deepest misery, and a
reaction which followed had very nearly proved suc-
cessful. Civil war raged for many years, and is said
to have reduced the number of the inhabitants by one-
1 half. The parties were styled the machinists and
the anti-machinists, and in the end, as I have said
already, the latter got the victory, treating their
opponents with such unparalleled severity that they
extirpated every trace of opposition. The wonder

1 88

EREWHON.

was that they allowed any mechanical appliances
to remain in the kingdom, neither do I believe that
they would have done so, had not the professors of
Inconsistency and Evasion made a stand against the
carrying of the new principles to their legitimate
conclusions. These professors however insisted that
during the struggle the anti-machinists should use
every known improvement in the art of war, and even
invented several new weapons, offensive and defensive,
while it was in progress. I was surprised at their
having so many mechanical specimens as they have in
their museums, and that they had rediscovered their
past uses so completely; for at the time of the revo-
lution they destroyed and utterly broke in pieces
each one of the more complicated machines and
burnt all treatises on mechanics and all engineers'
workshops, and, so they thought, cut the mischief
out root and branch, at an incalculable cost of blood
and treasure.

Certainly they had not spared their labour, but work
of this description can never be perfectly achieved,
and when, some two hundred years before my arrival,
all passion upon the subject had cooled down, and no
one save a lunatic would have dreamt of reintro-
ducing mechanical appliances, the subject came to
be regarded as a curious antiquarian study like that
of some long-forgotten religious practices among
ourselves. Then came the careful search for what-
ever fragments could be found, and for any machines
that might have been hidden away, and also num-
berless treatises were written, showing what the
functions of each rediscovered machine had been ;
all being done with no idea of ever using machinery

THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON. 189

again, but with, the feelings of an English antiqua-
rian concerning Druidical monuments or flint arrow
heads.

On my return to the metropolis, during the re-,
maining weeks or rather days of my sojourn in
Erewhon I made a resume in English of the work
which brought about the already mentioned destruc-
tion. My ignorance of technical terms has led me
doubtless into many errors, and I have occasionally,
where I found translation impossible, substituted
purely English names and ideas for the original Ere-
whonian ones, but the reader may rely on my general
accuracy. I have thought it best to insert my trans-
lation here, before proceeding to relate the story of
my escape with Arowhena.

CHAPTER XXL

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

HP HE writer commences : — " There was a time,
r- when the earth was to all appearance utterly
destitute both of animal and vegetable life, and when
according to the opinion of our best philosophers it
was simply a hot round ball with a crust gradually
cooling. Now if a human being had existed while
the earth was in this state and had been allowed to
see it as though it were some other world with which
he had no concern, and if at the same time he were
entirely ignorant of all physical science, would he not
have pronounced it impossible that creatures possessed
of anything, like consciousness should be evolved from
the seeming cinder which he was beholding ? Would
he not have denied that it contained any potentiality
of consciousness ? Yet in the course of time con-
sciousness came. Is it not possible then that there
may be even yet new channels dug out for conscious-
ness, though we can detect no signs of them at
present ?

" Again. Consciousness, in anything like the pre-
sent acceptation of the term, having been once a new
thing — a thing, as far as we can see, subsequent even
to an individual centre of action and to a reproductive
system (which we see existing in plants without ap-

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 191

parent consciousness) — why may not there arise some
new phase of mind which shall be as different from
all present known forms of consciousness as the con-
sciousness of animals is from that of vegetables ? It
would be absurd to attempt to define such a mental
state (or whatever it may be called), inasmuch as it
must be something so foreign to man that his ex-
perience can give him no help towards conceiving its
nature ; but surely when we reflect upon the manifold
phases of life and consciousness which have been
evolved already, it would be a rash, thing to say that
no others can be developed, and that animal life is
the end of all things. There was a time when fire was
the end of all things ; another when rocks and water
were so."

The writer, after enlarging on the above for several
pages, proceeds to inquire whether traces of the approach
of such a new phase of life could be perceived at pre-
sent ; whether we could see any tenements preparing
which might in a remote futurity be adapted for it ;
whether in fact the primordial cell of such a kind of
life could be now detected upon earth. In the course
of his work he answers this question in the affirmative
and points to the higher machines.

" There is no security " — to quote his own words
- — " against the ultimate development of mechanical
consciousness, in the fact of machines possessing
little consciousness now. A mollusc has not much
consciousness. Hefleet upon the extraordinary advance
which the machines have made during the last few
hundred years, and observe how slowly the animal
and vegetable kingdoms are advancing in comparison.
The more highly organised machines are creatures not

192

EREWHON.

so much of yesterday as of the last five minutes, so to
speak, in comparison with past time. Assume for
the sake of argument that conscious beings have
existed for some twenty million years : see what strides
machines have made in the last thousand! May
not the world last twenty million years longer ? If so,
what will they not in the end become ? Is it not safer
to nip the mischief in the bud and to forbid them
farther progress ?

u But who can say that the vapour engine has not
a kind of consciousness ? "Where does conscious-
ness begin, and where end ? Who can draw the line ?
¥ Who can draw any line? Is not everything inter-
woven with everything? Is not machinery linked
with animal life in an infinite variety of ways ? The
shell of a hen's egg is a machine as much as an egg-
cup is : the shell is a plan for holding the egg as
much as the egg-cup for holding the shell : both are
phases of the same function ; the hen makes the shell
in her inside, but it is pure pottery. She makes
her nest outside of herself for convenience' sake, but
the nest is not more of a machine than the egg-shell
is. A ' machine ' is only a 4 device.' "

Then returning to consciousness, and endeavouring
to detect its earliest manifestations, the writer con-
tinues : —

" There is a kind of plant which eats organic food
with its flowers : the moment that a fly settles upon the
blossom the petals close upon it and hold it fast till the
plant has absorbed the insect into its system. Shall we
say that the plant does not know what it is doing merely
because it has no eyes, or ears, or brains ? If we say
that it acts mechanically, and mechanically only,

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

193

shall we not be forced to admit that sundry other and
apparently very deliberate actions are also mechanical ?
If it seems to ns that the plant kills and eats a fly
mechanically, may it not seem to the plant that a man
must kill and eat a sheep mechanically ? Bat it may
be said that the plant is void of reason, because the
growth of a plant is an involuntary growth. Given
earth, air, and due temperature, the plant must grow :
it is like a clock, which being once wound up will go
till it is stopped or run down; it is like the wind blowing
on the sails of a ship — the ship must go when the wind
blows it. But can a healthy boy help growing if he have
good meat and drink and clothing? can anything help
going as long as it is wound up, or go on after it is run
down? Is there not a winding up process everywhere ?

u Even a potato* in a dark cellar has a certain low
cunning about him which serves him in excellent stead.
He knows perfectly well what he wants and how to get
it. He sees the light coming from the cellar window
and sends his shoots crawling straight thereto : they
will crawl along the floor and up the. wall and out at
the cellar window ; if there be a little earth anywhere
on the journey he will find it and use it for his own
ends. What deliberation he may exercise in the mat-
ter of his roots when he is planted in the earth is a
thing unknown to us, but we can imagine him saying,
4 1 will have a tuber here and a tuber there, and I

* The root alluded to is not the potato of our own gardens, but a
plant so near akin to it that I have ventured to translate it thus.
Apropos of its intelligence, had the writer known Butler he would
probably have said—

" He knows what 's what, and that 's as high,
As ruetaphysic wit can fly^"-

N

194

EREWHON.

will suck whatsoever advantage I can from all my
surroundings. This neighbour I will overshadow, and
that I will undermine ; and what I can do shall be
the limits of what I will do. He that is stronger and
better placed than I shall overcome me, and him that is
weaker I will overcome.' The potato says these
things by doing them, which is the best of languages.
What is consciousness if this is not consciousness?
We find it difficult to sympathise with the emotions of
a potato ; so we do with those of an oyster. Neither
of these things makes a noise on being boiled or
opened, and noise appeals to us more strongly than
anything else, because we make so much about our
own sufferings. Since then they do not annoy us by
any expression of pain we call them emotionless : and
so qua mankind they are ; but mankind is not every-
body.

"If it be urged that the action of the potato is
chemical and mechanical only, and that it is due to
the chemical and mechanical effects of light and heat,
the answer would seem to lie in an inquiry whether
every sensation is not chemical and mechanical in its
operation ? whether those things which we deem
most purely spiritual are anything but disturbances of
equilibrium in an infinite series of levers, beginning
with those that are too small for microscopic de-
tection, and. going up to the human arm and the
appliances which it makes use of? whether there
be not a molecular action of thought, whence a
dynamical theory of the passions shall be deducible ?
Whether strictly speaking we should not ask what
kind of levers a man is made of rather than what is
his temperament ? How are they balanced ? How

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 195

much of such, and such will it take to weigh them
down so as to make him do so and so ? "

The writer went on to say that he anticipated a time
when it would be possible, by examining a single hair
with a powerful microscope, to know whether its owner
could be insulted with impunity. He then became
more and more obscure, so that I was obliged to give
up all attempt at translation ; neither did I follow the
drift of his argument. On coming to the next part
which I could construe, I found that he had changed
his ground.

u Either" he proceeds, " a great deal of action that
has been called purely mechanical and unconscious
must be admitted to contain more elements of con-
sciousness than has been allowed hitherto (and in this
case germs of consciousness will be found in many
actions of the higher machines) — Or (assuming the
theory of evolution but at the same time denying the
consciousness of vegetable and crystalline action) the
race of man has descended from things which had no
consciousness at all. In this case there is no d priori
improbability in the descent of conscious (and more
than conscious) machines from those which now exist,
except that which is suggested by the apparent absence
of anything like a reproductive system in the mechan-
ical kingdom. This absence however is only apparent,
as I shall presently show.

" Do not let me be misunderstood as living in fear '
of any actually existing machine; there is probably
no known machine which is more than a prototype of
future mechanical life. The present machines are to
the future as the early Saurian s to man. The largest
of them will probably greatly diminish in size. Some

196

EREWHON.

of the lowest vertebrata attained a much greater bulk
than has descended to their more highly organised
living representatives, and in like manner a diminu-
tion on the size of machines has often attended their
development and progress. Take the watch, for ex-
ample ; examine its beautiful structure ; observe the
intelligent play of the minute members which compose
it : yet this little creature is but a development of the
cumbrous clocks that preceded it; it is no deterioration
from them. The day might come when clocks, which
certainly at the present time are not diminishing in
bulk, would be superseded owing to the universal
use of watches, in which case they would become as
extinct as ichthyosauri, while the watch, whose ten-
dency has for some years been to decrease in size
rather than the contrary , would remain the only exist-
ing type of an extinct race.

"But returning to the argument, I would repeat that
I should fear none of the existing machines so long
as they were wisely handled, and not suffered to pro-
gress further; what I do fear is the extraordinary
rapidity with which they are becoming something very
different to what they are at present. ISTo class of
beings have in any time past made so rapid a move-
ment forward. Should not that movement be jealously
watched, and checked before we find ourselves in a
false position and unable to check it? And is it
not necessary for this end to destroy the more ad-
vanced of the machines which are in use at present,
though it be admitted that they are in themselves
harmless ?

" As yet the machines receive their impressions
through the agency of man's senses : one travelling

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

197

machine calls to another in a shrill accent of alarm
and the other instantly retires, but it is through the
ears of the driver that the voice of the one has acted
upon the other. Had there been no driver, the callee
would have been deaf to the caller, even as a man who
has no hearing. There was a time when it must have
seemed highly improbable that machines should learn
to make their wants known by sound even through
the ears of man, and may we not conceive that a day
might come when those ears should be no longer
needed, and the hearing be done by the delicacy of the
machine's own construction ? — when its language should
have been developed from the cry of animals to a
speech as intricate as our own ? It is possible that
by that time children would learn the differential
calculus — as they learn now to speak — from their
mothers and nurses, or that they might talk in
the hypothetical language and work rule of three
sums before they were born ; but it is not probable;
and we cannot calculate on any corresponding advance
in man's intellectual or physical powers which shall
be a set-off against the far greater development which
seems in store for the machines. Some people may
say that man's moral influence will suffice to rule
them ; but I cannot think that it is safe to repose
much trust in this.

" Again, might not the glory of the machines
consist in their being without this same boasted gift
of language. ' Silence,' it has been said by one
writer, 4 is a virtue which renders us agreeable to our
fellow-creatures.' "

CHAPTER XXII.

the machines — continued.

"T)UT other questions come upon us. What is a
man's eye but a machine for the little creature
that sits behind in his brain to look through ? A dead,
man's eye is nearly as good as a living one's for some
time after the man is dead. It is not the eye that
cannot see, but the restless one that cannot see
through it. Is it man's eyes, or is it the big seeing
engine which has revealed to us the existence of worlds
beyond worlds into infinity? What has made man
familiar with the scenery of the moon, the spots on
the sun, or the geography of the planets ? He is at
the mercy of the seeing engine for these things, and
is powerless unless he tack it on to his own identity,
and make it part and parcel of himself. Or again is
it eyes or the little see-engine which has shown us
the existence of infinitely minute organisms which
swarm unsuspected around us ?

" And take man's vaunted power of calculation.
Have we not engines which can do all manner of
sums more quickly and correctly than we can ? What
prizeman in Hypothetics at any of our Colleges of
Unreason can compare with some of these machines
in their own line ? In fact, wherever precision is
required man flies to the machine at once, as far

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

preferable to himself. Oar sum-engines never drop a
figure, nor our looms a stitch ; the machine is brisk
and active, when the man is weary ; it is clear-headed
and collected, when the man is stupid and dull; it needs
no slumber, when man must sleep or drop ; ever at its
post, ever ready for work, its alacrity never flags, its
patience never gives in; its might is stronger than
combined hundreds, and swifter than the flight of
birds ; it can burrow beneath the earth, and walk
upon the largest rivers and sink not. This is the
green tree ; what then shall be done in the dry ?

" Who shall say that a man does see or hear ? He
* is such a hive and swarm of parasites that it is doubt-
ful whether his body is not more theirs than his, and
whether he is anything but another kind of ant-heap
after all. Might not man himself become a sort of
parasite upon the machines ? A kind of affectionate
machine-tickling aphid ?

" It is said by some that our blood is composed of
infinite living agencies which go up and down the
highways and byways of our bodies as people iii the
streets of a city. When we look down from a
high place upon crowded thoroughfares, is it possible
not to think of corpuscles of blood travelling through
veins and nourishing the heart of the town to make
it grow ? No mention shall be made of sewers, nor
of the hidden nerves which serve to communicate sen-
sations from one part of the town's body to another."

Here the writer became again so hopelessly ob-
scure that I was obliged to miss several pages. He
resumes : —

"It can be answered that even though machines
should hear never so well and speak never so wisely,

200

EREWHON.

they will still always do the one or the other for our
advantage and not for their own ; that man will be
the ruling spirit and the machine the servant ; that as
soon as a machine fails to discharge the service which
men expects from it, it is doomed to extinction ; that
the machines stand to man simply in the relation of
lower animals, the vapour engine itself being only a
more economical kind of horse ; so that instead of
being likely to be developed into a higher kind of life
than man's, the}r owe their very existence and progress
to their power of ministering to human wants, and
must therefore both now and ever be man's inferiors.

" This is all very well. But the servant glides by '
imperceptible approaches into the master; and we
have come to such a pass that even now man must
suffer terribly on ceasing to benefit the machines. If
all machines were to be annihilated at one moment, so
that not a knife nor lever nor rag of clothing nor
anything whatsoever were left to man but his bare body
alone that he was born with, and if all knowledge of
mechanical laws were taken from him so that he could
make no more machines, and all machine-made food
destroyed so that the race of man should be left as it
were naked upon a desert island, we should become
extinct in six weeks. A few miserable individuals
might linger, but even these in a year or two would
become worse than monkeys. Man's very soul is due
to the machines ; it is a machine-made thing : he
thinks as he thinks and feels as he feels through the
work that machines have wrought upon him, and
their existence is quite as much a sine qua non for
his, as his for theirs. This fact precludes us from
proposing the complete annihilation of machinery, but

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

201

surely it indicates that we should destroy as many of
them as we can possibly dispense with, lest they
should tyrannise over us even more completely. It is
true, from a low materialistic point of view, it would
seem that those thrive best who use machinery wher-
ever its use is possible with profit ; but this is the art
of the machines — they serve that the}r may rule. They
bear no malice towards man for destroying a whole-
race of them provided he creates a better instead ; on
the contrary, they reward him liberally for having
hastened their development. It is for neglecting them
that he incurs their wrath, or for using inferior
machines, or for not making sufjjicient exertions to
invent new ones, or for destroying them without
replacing them ; yet this is what we must do, and do
quickly ; for though our rebellion against their infant
power will cause infinite suffering, what will not
things come to, if that rebellion is delayed ?

" They have preyed upon man's grovelling prefer-
ence for his material over his spiritual interests, and
have betrayed him into supplying that element of
struggle and warfare without which no race can
advance. The lower animals progress because they
struggle with one another; the weaker die, the stronger
breed and transmit their strength. The machines being
of themselves unable to struggle, have got man to do
their struggling for them : as long as he fulfils this
function duly, all goes well with him — at least he
thinks so'; but the moment he fails to do his best for
the advancement of machinery by encouraging the
good and destroying the bad, he is left behind in the
race of competition ; and this means that he will be
made uncomfortable in a variety of ways, and perhaps

202

ERE W HON.

that lie will die. So that even now the machines will
only serve on condition of being served, and that too
npon their own terms ; the moment their terms are
not complied with, they jib, and either smash both
themselves and all whom they can reach, or turn
churlish and refuse to work at all. How many men
at this hour are living in a state of bondage to the
machines ? How many spend their whole lives, from
the cradle to the grave, in tending them by night and
day ? Is it not plain that the machines are gaining
ground upon us, when we reflect on the increasing
number of those who are bound down to them as
slaves, and of those who devote their whole souls to
the advancement of the mechanical kingdom ?

" The vapour-engine must be fed with food and
consume it by fire even as man consumes it ; it sup-
ports its combustion by air as man supports it ; it
has a pulse and circulation as man has. It may be
granted that man's body is as yet the more versatile
of the two, but then man's body is an older thing ;
give the steam-engine but half the time that man has
had, give it also a continuance of our present infatua-
tion, and what may it not ere long attain to?

u There are certain functions indeed of the vapour-
engine which would probably remain unchanged for
myriads of years — which in fact would perhaps sur-
vive when the use of vapour had been superseded : the
piston and cylinder, the beam, the fly-wheel, " and
other parts of the machine would be probably perma-
nent, just as we see that man and many of the lower
animals share like modes of eating, drinking, and
sleeping ; thus they have hearts which beat as ours,
veins and arteries, eyes, ears, and noses; they sigh even

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 203

in their sleep, and weep and yawn ; they are affected
by their children; they feel pleasure and pain, hope,
fear, anger, shame; they have memory and prescience,
they know that if certain things happen to them they
will die, and they fear death as much as we do : they
communicate their thoughts to one another, and some
of them deliberately act in concert. The comparison of
similarities is endless : I only make it because some
may say that the steam-engine not being likely to
improve in the main particulars is unlikely to be
henceforward extensively modified at all. This is too
good to be true : it would be modified and suited for
an infinite variety of purposes, as much as man has
been modified so as to exceed the brutes in skill. In
the meantime the stoker is almost as much a cook
for his engine as our own cooks for ourselves. Con-
sider also the colliers and pitmen and coal merchants
and coal trains and the men who drive them and the
ships that carry coals — what an army of servants do
the machines thus employ ! Are there not probably
more men engaged in tending machinery than in
tending men ? Do not machines eat as it were by
mannery ? Are we not ourselves creating our succes-
sors in the supremacy of the earth? daily adding
to the beauty and delicacy of their organisation, daily
giving them greater skill and supplying more and
more of that self-regulating self-acting power which
will be better than intellect itself ?

" What a new thing it is for a machine to feed at
all ! The plough, the spade, and the cart must eat
through man's stomach; the fuel that sets them going
must burn in the furnace of a man or of horses. Man
must consume bread and meat or he cannot dig ; the

204

ERE WHO N.

bread and meat are the fuel which drive the spade.
If a plough be drav/n by horses, the power is supplied
by grass or beans or oats, which being burnt in the
belly of the cattle give the power of working: without
this fuel the work would cease, as an engine would
stop if its furnaces were to go out. A man of science
has demonstrated i that no animal has the power of
originating mechanical energy, but that all the work
done in its life by any animal, and all the heat that
has been emitted from it, and the heat which would
be obtained by burning the combustible matter which
has been lost from its body during life, and by burn-
ing its body after death, make up altogether an exact
equivalent to the heat which would be obtained by
burning as much food as it has used during its life,
and an amount of fuel which would generate as much
heat as its body if burned immediately after death.'
How then can it be objected against the future
vitality of the machines that they are, in their pre-
sent infancy, at the beck and call of beings who
are themselves incapable of originating mechanical
energy ?

" The main point however to be observed as afford-
ing cause for alarm is, that whereas animals were
formerly the only stomachs of the machines, there are
now many which have stomachs of their own, and
consume their food themselves. This is a great step
towards their becoming, if not animate, yet something
so near akin to it, as not to differ more widely from
our own life than animals do from vegetables. And
though man should remain, in some respects, the
higher creature, is not this in accordance with the
practice of nature, which allows superiority in some

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 205

tilings to animals which have, on the whole, been long
surpassed ? Has she not allowed the ant and the bee
to retain superiority over man in the organisation of
their communities and social arrangements, the bird
in traversing the air, the fish in swimming, the horse
in strength and fleetness", and the dog in self-sacri-
fice ?

"It is said by some with whom I have conversed
upon this subject, that the machines can never be de-
veloped into animate or quasi-&mma.te existences, inas-
much as they have no reproductive system, nor seem
ever likely to possess one. If this be taken to mean
that they cannot marry, and that we are never likely
to see a fertile union between two vapour-engines and
the young ones playing about the door of the shed,
however greatly we might desire to do so, I will
readily grant it. But the objection is not a very pro-
found one. No one expects that all the features of the
now existing organisations will be absolutely repeated
in an entirely new class of life. The reproductive
system of animals differs widely from that of plants,
but both are reproductive systems. Has nature ex-
hausted her phases of this power? Surely if a
machine is able to reproduce another machine system-
atically, we may say that it has a reproductive system.
What is a reproductive system, if it be not a system
for reproduction ? And how few of the machines are
there which have not been produced systematically by
other machines ? But it is man that makes them do
so. Yes ; but is it not insects that make many of the
plants reproductive, and would not whole families of
plants die out if their fertilisation were not effected by
a class of agents utterly foreign to themselves ? Does

206 ERE WHO N.

any one say that the red clover has no reproductive
system because the humble bee (and the humble bee
only) must aid and abet it before it can reproduce ?
No one would venture upon such an obviously absurd
assertion. The humble bee is a part of the reproduc-
tive system of the clover. Each one of ourselves has
sprung from minute animalcules whose entity was
entirely distinct from our own, and which acted after
their hind with no thought or heed of what we might
think about it. These little creatures are part of our
own reproductive system; then why not we part of
that of the machines ?

u But the machines which reproduce machinery do
not reproduce them after their own kind. A thimble
may be made by machinery, but it was not made by,
neither will it ever make, a thimble. Here again if
we turn to nature we shall find abundance of analogies
which will teach us that a reproductive system may be
in full force without the thing produced being of the
same kind as that which produced it. Very few crea-
tures reproduce after their own kind ; they reproduce
something which has the potentiality of becoming that
which their parents were. Thus the butterfly lays an
egg, which egg can become a caterpillar, which cater-
pillar can become a chrysalis, which chrysalis can be-
come a butterfly ; and though I freely grant that the
machines cannot be said to have, more than the germ
of a true reproductive system at present, have we not
just seen that they have only recently obtained the
germs of a mouth and stomach ? And might not some
stride be made in the direction of true reproduction
which should be as great as that which has been re-
cently taken in the direction of true feeding ?

>

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

207

" It is possible that the system when developed
might be in many cases a vicarions thing. Certain
classes of machines might be alone fertile, while the
rest discharged other functions in the mechanical
system, just as the great majority of ants and bees
have nothing to do with the continuation of their
species, but get food and store it, without thought of
breeding. One cannot expect the parallel to be com-
plete or nearly so ; certainly not now, and probably
never; but is there not enough analogy existing at
the present moment, to make us feel seriously uneasy
about the future, and to render it our duty to check the
evil while it is still in our power to do so ? Machines
can within certain limits beget machines of any class,
no matter how different to themselves. Every class
of machines will probably have its special mechanical
breeders, and all the higher ones will owe their exist-
ence to a large number of parents and not to two only.
"We are misled by considering any complicated ma-
chine as a single thing; in truth it is a city or society,
each member of which was bred truly after its kind.
We see a machine as a whole, we call it by a name
and individualise it ; we look at our own limbs, and
know that the combination forms an individual which
springs from a single centre of reproductive action ;
we therefore assume that there can be no reproductive
action which does not arise from a single centre ; but
this assumption is unscientific, and the bare fact that
no vapour-engine was ever made entirely by another,
or two others, of its own kind, is not sufficient to war-
rant us in saying that the vapour-engines have no re-
productive system. The truth is that each part of every
vapour-engine is bred by its own special breeders,

2C8

ERE WHO N.

whose function it is to breed that part, and that only,
while the combination of the parts into a whole forms
another department of the mechanical reproductive
system, which is at present exceedingly complex and
difficult to see in its entirety. Complex now, but how
much simpler and more intelligibly organised might it
not become in another hundred thousand years ? or in
twenty thousand? For man at present believes that his
interest lies in that direction ; he spends an incalcul-
able amount of labour and time and thought in making
machines breed always better and better; he has already
succeeded in effecting much that at one time appeared
impossible, and there seem no limits to the results
of accumulated improvements if they are allowed to
descend with modification from generation to genera-
tion. It must always be remembered that man's body
is what it is through having been moulded into its
present shape by the chances and changes of an im-
mense time, but that his organisation never advanced
with anything like the rapidity with which that of the
machines is advancing. This is the most alarming
feature in the case, and I must be pardoned for insist-
ing on it so frequently."

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MACHINES Concluded.

XT EKE followed a very long and untranslatable
digression about the different races and families
of the then existing machines. The writer attempted
to support his theory by pointing out the similarities
existing between many machines of a widely different
character, which served to show descent from a com-
mon ancestor. He divided machines into their genera,
subgenera, species, varieties, subvarieties, and so forth.
He showed the existence of connecting links between
machines that seemed to have very little in common,
and showed that many more such links had existed
which had now perished. He pointed out tendencies
to reversion, and the presence of rudimentary organs
which existed in many machines feebly developed
and perfectly useless, yet serving to mark descent
from an ancestor to whom the function was actually
useful. I left the translation of this part of the trea-
tise, which, by the way, was far longer than all that
I have given here, for a later opportunity. Unfor-
tunately,' I left Erewhon before I could return to the
subject ; and though I saved my translation and
other papers at the hazard of my life, I was obliged
to sacrifice the original work. It went to my heart to
do so; but I thus gained ten minutes of invaluable

o

210

EREWHON.

time, without which both Arowhena and myself must
have certainly perished.

I remember one incident which bears upon this
part of the treatise. The gentleman who gave it to
me had asked to see my tobacco-pipe ; he examined
it carefully, and when he came to the little protu-
berance at the bottom of the bowl he seemed much
delighted, and exclaimed that it must be rudimentary.
I asked him what he meant.

" Sir," he answered, "this organ is identical with
the rim at the bottom of a cup ; it is but another form
of the same function. Its purpose must have been to
keep the heat of the pipe from marking the table
upon which it rested. You would find, if you were to
look up the history of tobacco-pipes, that in early
specimens this protuberance was of a different
shape to what it is now. It will have been broad
at the bottom, and flat, so that while the pipe was
being smoked the bowl might rest upon the table
without marking it. Use and disuse must have come
into play and reduced the function to its present
rudimentary condition. I should not be surprised,
sir," he continued, " if, in the course of time, it were
to become modified still farther, and to assume the
form of an ornamental leaf or scroll, or even a butter-
fly, while, in some cases, it will become extinct."

Curiously enough, on my return to England, I
looked up the point, and found that my friend was
right.

Returning, however, to the treatise, my translation
recommences as follows : —

" May we not fancy that if, in the remotest geolo-
gical period, some early form of vegetable life had

i

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

211

been endowed with the power of reflecting upon the
dawning life of animals which was coming into exist-
ence alongside of its own, it would have thought itself
exceedingly acute if it had surmised that animals
would one day become real vegetables ? Yet would
this be more mistaken than it would be on our part
to imagine that because the life of machines is a very
different one to our own, there is therefore no higher
possible development of life than ours ; or that be-
cause mechanical life is a very different thing from
ours, therefore that it is not life at all ?

" But I have heard it said, c granted that this is so,
and that the steam-engine has a strength of its own,
surely no one will say that it has a will of its own ? '
Alas, alas ! if we look more closely, we shall find that
this does not make against the supposition that the
vapour-engine is one of the germs of a new phase of
life. What is there in this whole world, or in the
worlds beyond it, which has a will of its own ? The
Unknown and Unknowable only !

" A man is the resultant and exponent of all the
forces that have been brought to bear upon him,
whether before his birth or afterwards. His action at
any moment depends solely upon his constitution, and
on the intensity and direction of the various agencies
to which he is and has been subjected. Some of
these will counteract each other ; but as he is by
nature, and as he has been acted on, and is now acted
on from without, so will he do as certainly and regu-
larly as though he were a machine.

u We do not generally admit this, because we do not
know the whole nature of any one, nor the whole of
the forces that act upon him. We see but a part, and

212

EREWHON.

being thus unable to generalise human conduct, except
very roughly, we deny that it is subject to any fixed
laws at all, and ascribe much both of a man's character
and actions to chance, or luck, or fortune ; but these
are only words whereby we escape the admission of
our own ignorance ; and a little reflection will teach us
that the most daring flight of the imagination or the
most subtle exercise of the reason is as much the thing
that must arise, and the only thing that can by any
possibility arise, at the moment of its arising, as the
falling of a dead leaf when the wind shakes it from
the tree : for the future depends upon the present,
and the present (whose existence is only one of those
minor compromises of which human life is fall) de-
pends upon the past, and the past is unalterable.
The only reason why we cannot see the future as
plainly as the past, is because we know too little of
the actual past and actual present ; these things
are too great for us, otherwise the future, in its minut-
est details, would lie spread out before our eyes, and
we should lose the half of our sense of time present by
reason of the clearness with which we should perceive
the past and future ; perhaps we should not be even able
to distinguish time at all; but that is foreign. What we
do know is, that the more the past and present are
known, the more the future can be predicted : and
that no one dreams of doubting the fixity of the future
in cases where he is fully cognisant of both past
and present, and has had experience of the conse-
quences that followed from such a past and such a
present on previous occasions. He perfectly well
knows what will happen, and will stake his whole for-
tune thereon.

THE BOOK OF THE MA CHINES.

213

11 And this is a great blessing ; for it is the foun-
dation on which morality and science are built. The
assurance that the future is no arbitrary and change-
able thing, but that like futures will invariably
follow on the reproduction of like presents, is the
groundwork on which we lay all our plans, the faith
on which we do every conscious action of our lives.
If this were not so we should be without a guide ; we
should have no confidence in acting, and hence we
should never act ; there would be no knowing that the
results which will follow now will be the same as those
which followed before. Who would plough or sow
if he disbelieved in the fixity of the future ? Who
would throw water on a blazing house if the action of
water upon fire were uncertain ? Men will only do
their utmost when they feel certain that the future
will discover itself against them if their utmost has
not been done. The feeling of such a certainty is a
constituent part of the sum of the forces at work upon
them, and will act most powerfully on the best and
most moral men. Those who are most firmly per-
suaded that the future is immutably bound up with
the present in which their work is lying, will best
husband their present, and till it with the greatest
care. The future must be a lottery to those who
think that the same combinations can sometimes
precede one set of results, and sometimes another. If
their belief is sincere they will speculate instead of
working : these ought to be the immoral men ; the
others have the strongest spur to exertion and morality,
if their belief is a living one.

" The bearing of all this upon the machines is not
immediately apparent, but will become so presently.

214

ERE WHO N.

In the meantime I must deal with friends who
tell me that, though the future is fixed as regards
inorganic matter, and in some respects with regard
to man, yet that there are many ways in which it
cannot he considered as fixed. Thus, they say that
fire applied to dry shavings, and well fed with oxygen
gas, will always produce a blaze, hut that a coward
brought into contact with a terrifying object will not
always result in a man running away. Nevertheless,
if there be two cowards perfectly similar in every
respect, and if they be subjected in a perfectly similar
way to two terrifying agents, which are themselves
perfectly similar, there are few who will not expect a
perfect similarity in the running away, even though a
.thousand years intervene between the original com-
bination and its being repeated. The apparently
greater regularity in the results of chemical than of
human combinations arises from our inability to per-
ceive the subtle differences in human combinations —
combinations which are never identically repeated.
Fire we know, and shavings we know, but no two men
ever were or ever will be exactly alike ; and the
smallest difference may change the whole conditions
of the problem. Our registry of results must be in-
finite before we could arrive at a full forecast of future
combinations; the wonder is that there is as much
certainty concerning human action as there is ; and
assuredly the older we grow the more certain we feel
as to what such and such a kind of person will do in
given circumstances ; but this could never be the case
unless human conduct were under the influence of
laws, with the working of which we become more and
more familiar through experience.

i

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 21$

" If the above be sound, it follows that the regula-
rity with which machinery acts is in itself no proof of
the absence of vitality, or at least of germs which may
be developed into a new phase of life. At first sight
it would indeed appear that a vapour-engine cannot
help going when set upon a line of rails with the
steam up and the machinery in full play ; whereas the
man whose business it is to drive it can help doing
so at any moment that he pleases ; so that the first
has no spontaneity and is not possessed of any sort
of free will, while the second has and is. This is true
up to a certain point ; the driver can stop the engine
at any moment that he pleases, but he can only please
to do so at certain points which have been fixed for
him by others, or in the case of unexpected obstruc-
tious which force him to please to do so. His plea-
sure is not spontaneous ; there is an unseen choir of
influences which have cast their spells around him,
and which make it impossible for him to act in
any other way than one. It is known beforehand
how much strength must be given to these influences,
just as it is known beforehand how much coal and
water are necessary for the vapour-engine itself ; and
curiously enough it will be found that the influences
brought to bear upon the driver are of the same kind
as those brought to bear upon the engine — that is to
say, food and warmth. The driver is obedient to his
masters, because he gets food and warmth from them,
and if these were withheld or given in insufficient
quantities he would cease to drive; in like manner
the engine would cease to work if it were insufficiently
fed. The only difference is, that the man is conscious
about his wants, and the engine, beyond refusing to

2l6

EREWHON.

work, does not seem to be so ; but this is temporary,
and has been dealt with above.

" Accordingly the requisite strength being given to
the motives that are to drive the driver, there has
never, or hardly ever, been an instance of a man stop-
ping his engine through wantonness. But such a case
might occur ; yes, and it might occur that the engine
should break down : but if the train is stopped from
some trivial motive it will be found either that the
strength of the necessary influences has been miscal-
culated, or that the man has been miscalculated, in
the same way as an engine may break down from an
unsuspected flaw ; but even in such a case there will
have'been no spontaneity; the action will have had
its true parental causes : spontaneity is only a term
for man's ignorance of the gods.

" Is there then no spontaneity on the part of those
who drive the driver?"

Here followed an obscure argument upon this
subject, which I have thought it best to omit. The
writer resumes :— " After all then it comes to this,
that the difference between the life of a man and that
of a machine is one rather of degree than of kind,
though differences in kind are not wanting. An
animal has more provision for emergency than a
machine. The machine is less versatile ; its range of
action is narrow ; its strength and accuracy in its own
sphere are superhuman, but it shows badly in a
dilemma ; sometimes when its normal action is dis-
turbed, it will lose all head and go from bad to worse
like a lunatic in a raging frenzy : but here again we
are met by the same consideration as before, namely,
that the machines are still in their infancy ; they are

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 217

mere skeletons without muscles and flesh. For how
many emergencies is an oyster adapted? For as
many as are likely to happen to it, and no more. So
are the machines ; and so is man himself. The list
of casualties that daily occur to man through his
want of adaptability is probably as great as that
occurring to the machines ; and every day gives them
some greater provision for the unforeseen. Let any one
examine the wonderful self-regulating and self-adjust-
ing contrivances which are now incorporated with the
vapour-engine, let him watch the way in which it
supplies itself with oil, in which it indicates its wants
to those who tend it, in which, by the governor, it
regulates its application of its own strength, let him
look at that store-house of inertia and momentum
the fly-wheel, or at the buffers on a railway carriage,
let him see how those improvements are being culled
out for perpetuity which contain provision against the
emergencies that may arise to harass the machines,
and then let him think of a hundred thousand years,
and the accumulated progress which they will bring,
unless man can be awakened to a sense of his situation,
and of the doom which he is preparing for himself.*

* Since my return to England, I have been told that those who are
conversant about machines use many terms concerning them which
show that their vitality is here recognised, and that a collection of ex-
pressions in use among those who attend on steam engines would be no
less startling than instructive. I am also informed, that almost all
machines have their own tricks and idiosyncracies ; that they know
their drivers and keepers ; and that they will play pranks upon a
stranger. It is my intention, on a future occasion, to bring together
examples both of the expressions in common use among mechanicians,
and of any extraordinary exhibitions of mechanical sagacity and eccen-
tricity that I can meet with — not as believing in the Erewhonian
Professor's theory, but from the interest of the subject.

218 ERE WHO N.

" The ■ misery is that man has been blind so long
already. In his reliance upon the use of steam he has
been betrayed into increasing and multiplying. To
withdraw steam power suddenly will not have the
effect of reducing us to the state in which we were
before its introduction ; there will be a general break-
up and time of anarchy such as has never been known ;
it will be as though our population were suddenly
doubled, with no additional means of feeding the in-
creased number. The air we breathe is hardly more
necessary for our animal life than the use of any ma-
chine, on the strength of which we have increased our
numbers, is to our civilisation; it is the machines
which act upon man and make him man, as much as
man who has acted upon and made the machines ; but
we must choose between the alternative of undergoing
much present suffering, or seeing ourselves gradually
superseded by our own creatures, till we rank no
higher in comparison with them, than the beasts of
the field with ourselves.

" Herein lies our danger. For many seem inclined
to acquiesce in so dishonourable a future. They say
that although man should become to the machines what
the horse and dog are to us, yet that he will continue
to exist, and will probably be better off in a state of
domestication under the beneficent rule of the ma-
chines than in his present wild condition. We treat
our domestic animals with much kindness. We give
them whatever we believe to be the best for them; and
there can be no doubt that our use of meat has in-
creased their happiness rather than detracted from it.
Tn like manner there is reason to hope that the ma-
chines will use us kindly, for their existence will be

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES. 219

in a great measure dependent upon ours ; they will
rule us with a rod of iron, but they will not eat us ;
they will not only require our services in the repro-
duction and education of their young, but also in
waiting upon them as servants, in gathering food for
them, and feeding them, in restoring them to health
when they are sick, and in either burying their dead
or working up their deceased members into new forms
of mechanical existence. The nature of the motive
power which works the advancement of the machines
precludes the possibility of man's life being rendered
miserable as well as enslaved. Slaves are tolerably
happy if they have good masters, and the revolution
will not occur in our time, nor hardly in ten thousand
years, or ten times that. Is it wise to be uneasy about
a contingency which is so remote ? Man is not a sen-
timental animal where his material interests are con-
cerned, and though here and there some ardent soul
may look upon himself and curse his fate that he was
not born a vapour-engine, yet the mass of mankind
will acquiesce in any arrangement which gives them
better food and clothing at a cheaper rate, and will
refrain from yielding to unreasonable jealousy merely
because there are other destinies more glorious than
their own. The power of custom is enormous, and so
gradual will be the change, that man's sense of what
is due to himself will be at no time rudely shocked ;
our bondage will steal upon us noiselessly and by im-
perceptible approaches ; nor will there ever be such a
clashing of desires between man and the machines as
will lead to an encounter between them. Among
themselves the machines will war eternally, but they
will still require man as the being through whose

220

ERE WHO N.

agency the struggle will be principally conducted. In
point of fact there is no occasion for anxiety about
the future happiness of man so long as he continues
to be in any way profitable to the machines; he may
become the inferior race, but he will be infinitely
better off than he is now. Is it not then both absurd
and unreasonable to be envious of our benefactors ?
And should we not be guilty of consummate folly if
we were to reject advantages which we cannot obtain
otherwise, merely because they involve a greater gain
to others than to ourselves ?

" With those who can argue in this way I have
myself nothing in common. I shrink with as much
horror from believing that my race can ever be super-
seded or surpassed, as I should do from believing that
even at the remotest period my ancestors were other
than human beings. Could I believe that ten hundred
thousand years ago a single one of my ancestors was
another kind of being to myself, I should lose all self-
respect, and take no further pleasure or interest in
life. I have the same feeling with regard to my de-
scendants, and believe it to be one that will be felt so
generally that the country will resolve upon putting
an immediate stop to all further mechanical progress,
and upon destroying all improvements that have been
made for the last three hundred years. I would not urge
more than this. We may trust ourselves to deal with
those that remain, and though I should prefer to have
seen the destruction include another two hundred
years, I am aware of the necessity for compromising,
and would so far sacrifice my own individual convic-
tions as to be content with three hundred. Less than
this will be insufficient."

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

221

This was the conclusion of the attack which led to
the destruction of machinery throughout Erewhon.
There was only one serious attempt to answer it. Its
author said that machines were to be regarded as a
part of man's own physical nature, being really no-
thing but extra-corporeal limbs. Man, he said, was
a machinate mammal. The lower animals keep all their
limbs at home in their own bodies, but many of man's
are loose, and lie about detached, now here and now
there, in various parts of the world — some being kept
always handy for contingent use, and others being
occasionally hundreds of miles away. A machine is
merely a supplementary limb ; this is the be all and
end all of machinery. We do not use our own limbs
other than as machines ; and a leg is only a much
better wooden leg than any one can manufacture. In
fact, machines are to be regarded as the mode of de-
velopment by which human organism is now especially
advancing, every past invention being an addition to
the resources of the human body. Even community
of limbs is thus rendered possible to those who have
so much community of soul as to own money enough
to pay a railway fare ; for a train is only a seven-
leagued foot that five hundred may own at once.

The only serious danger which this writer appre-
hended was that the machines would so equalise men's
powers, and so lessen the severity of competition, that
many persons of inferior physique would escape detec-
tion and transmit their inferiority to their descendants.
He feared that the removal of the present pressure
might cause a degeneracy of the human body, and
indeed that the whole body might become purely
rudimentary, the man himself being nothing but soul

222

ERE WHO N.

and mechanism. " How greatly," he writes, " do we
not now live with our external limbs ?"

u We vary our physique with the seasons, with age,
with advancing or decreasing wealth. If it is wet
we are furnished with an organ commonly called an
umbrella, and which is designed for the purpose of
protecting our clothes or our skins from the injurious
effects of rain. Man has now many extra-corporeal
members, which are of more importance to him than
a good deal of his hair, or at any rate than his whiskers.
His memory goes in his pocket-book. He becomes
more and more complex as he grows older; he will
then be seen with see-engines, or perhaps with
artificial teeth and hair : if he be a really well-developed
specimen of his race, he will be furnished with a large
box upon wheels, two horses and a coachman."

The writer proceeded to sa}r, that men should be
classified by their genera, species, varieties, and
subvarieties, and that names should be given to each
class from the hypothetical language, which should
express the number of limbs which they could com-
mand at any moment; for he said that those who
could identify themselves with a special train when-
ever they pleased, were far more highly organised
than those whose means of locomotion were confined
to their own legs. In fact, he it was who originated
the custom of reckoning men by their horse-power,
and who pointed out that those alone possessed the
full complement of limbs who stood in the first rank
of opulence ; the great merchants and bankers being
the most astonishing organisms which the world had
ever seen.

And so he went on at considerable length; but the

THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES.

223

other writer was considered to have the best of it, and
in the end succeeded in destroying all the inventions
that had been discovered for the preceding 271 years,
a period which was agreed npon by all parties after
several years of wrangling as to whether a certain '
kind of mangle which was much in use among washer-
women should be saved or no. It was at last ruled to
be dangerous, and was just excluded by the limit of
271 years. Then came the reactionary civil wars
which nearly ruined the country, but which it would
be beyond my present scope to describe.

>

CHAPTER XXIY.

ESCAPE.

TT took me several days to translate the foregoing
extracts, but while thus occupied, I was also laying
matters in train for my escape with Arowhena. And
indeed it was high time, for I received an intimation
from one of the cashiers of the musical banks, that I
was to be prosecuted in a criminal court ostensibly
for measles, but really for having owned a watch, and
attempted the reintroduction of machinery. I asked
why measles ? and was told that there was a fear lest
extenuating circumstances should prevent a jury from
convicting me, if I were indicted for typhus or small-
pox, but that a verdict would probably be obtained
for measles, a disease which could be sufficiently
punished in a person of my age. I was given to
understand that unless some unexpected change should
come over the mind of his majesty, I might expect the
blow to be struck within a very few days.

My plan was this — that Arowhena and I should
escape in a balloon together. I fear that the reader
will disbelieve this part of my story, yet in no other
have I endeavoured to adhere more conscientiously to
fact, and can only throw myself upon his charity.

I had already gained the ear of the queen, and so
worked upon her curiosity that she had promised to

ESCAPE.

22$

get leave for me to have a balloon made and inflated ;
were I once in the car of the balloon and Arowhena
with me, I would chance the rest. I knew nothing
about balloons, not even with what gas or gases they
are filled ; nor had I any knowledge of how to manage
one, were a balloon provided for me, so that the diffi-
culty and danger of the undertaking were well before
me ; in addition to this, I could not see how I should
smuggle Arowhena into the car without her father
and mother's knowledge ; nevertheless, I resolved on
overcoming every obstacle so far as mortal man could
do so, and, strange as it may appear, I felt confident
that I should succeed.

It happened that there had been a time of consider-
able drought, and that prayers for rain had been for
weeks vainly offered in all the temples of the air god ;
my proposal, therefore, had been that I should go up
into the sky in a balloon such as I had described to
his majesty, and prevail upon the air god by means
of a personal interview. I own that this proposition
bordered upon the idolatrous, but I trust that I have
sincerely repented of it ; it was certainly the means
of saving my life and Arowhena's, and will possibly
lead to the conversion of the whole country.

The queen was delighted with the idea. I pointed
out to her that no complicated machinery was wanted; •
nothing but a car, a few roj>es, a large quantity of
silk, and some gas of a kind which would be easily
procurable could I consult some of the antiquarians
who would be acquainted with the means employed
by the ancients for the production of the lighter
gases. The eagerness of her majesty to see so extra-
ordinary a sight as the ascent of a human being into

p

226

EREWHON.

the sky, overcame any scruples of conscience that she
might otherwise have felt, and she sent her maids to
purchase the necessary silk and cords, even before she
had begun to try and gain the king's permission;
this, however, she now set herself to do, for I had
sent word to her that my prosecution was imminent.

The king, who was a most uxorious husband, at
first ridiculed the notion, but at length consented,
as he did to everything else on which her majesty
had set her heart. He yielded all the more easily
now because he did not believe in the possibility of
my ascent ; he was convinced that the balloon would
collapse after I had mounted only a few feet, that
I should fall and break my neck, and so he should be
well rid of me. The queen told me he demonstrated
this to her in a convincing manner ; but he ended by
allowing me to make the ascent, and by giving orders
that I might have all the assistance which the anti-
quarians could give me, and that the most suitable
gases should be discovered and provided ; at the same
time, I was given to understand that my attempted
ascent would be made an article of impeachment
against me in case I did not succeed in influencing
the air god to put an end to the drought. He had no
idea that I meant going right away if I could get the
wind to take me, nor had he any conception of the
existence of a certain steady upper current of air
which was always setting in one direction, as could
be seen by the shape of the higher clouds, which
pointed invariably from south-east to north-west. I
had myself long noticed this peculiarity in the cli-
mate, and attributed it, I believe justly, to a trade-
wind which was constant at a few thousand feet above

ESCAPE.

227

the earth, but was disturbed by local influences at
lower elevations.

My next business was to break the plan to Aro-
whena, and to devise the means for getting her into
the car. I felt sure that she would come with me,
but had made up my mind that if her courage failed
her, the whole thing should come to nothing. Aro-
whena and I had been in constant communication
through her maid, but I had thought it best not to
tell her the details of my scheme till everything was
settled. The time had now arrived, and I arranged
with the maid that I should be admitted by a private
door into Mr JSTosnibor's garden at about dusk on the
following afternoon.

I came at the appointed time ; the girl let me into
the garden and bade me wait in a secluded alley until
Arowhena should come. The leaves had most of them
fallen, and were lying thick and restful upon the
ground ; some few — sad yellow lingerers — still clung
to the half-naked boughs, but they were falling fast
before the soughing of the evening breeze ; the sun
had long set, but there was still a gleam in the sky
over the ruins of the railway station ; below me was
the city already twinkling with lights, but half cano-
pied under a veil of mist — beyond it stretched the
plains until they blended with the sky — overhead
were the desolate trees, and * * * I heard a rustle of
leaves upon the ground, and perceived a white figure
gliding swiftly towards me. I bounded towards her,
and ere thought could either prompt or check, I had
caught her to my heart and covered her unresisting
cheek with kisses.

So overjoyed were we that we knew not how to

228

EREWHON.

speak, for we had suffered much and our future was
dark and uncertain. I do not know when we should
have found words and come to our senses, if the maid
had not gone off into a fit of hysterics, and awakened
us to the necessity of self-control; then briefly and
plainly I unfolded what I proposed; I showed her the
darkest side, for I felt sure that the darker the pro-
spect, the more likely she was to come. I told her
that my plan would probably end in death for both of
us, and that I dared not press it — that at a word from
her it should be abandoned; still that there was just
a possibility of our escaping together to some part of
the world where there would be no bar to our getting
married, and that I could see no other hope. She
made no resistance, not a sign or hint of doubt or
hesitation. She would do all I told her, and come
whenever I was ready ; so I bade her send her maid to
meet me nightly — told her that she must put a good
face on, look as bright and happy as she could, so as
to make her father, and mother, and Zulora, think
that she was forgetting me — and be ready at a mo-
ment's notice to come to the queen's workshops and
be concealed among the ballast and under rugs in the
car of the balloon ; and so we parted.

I hurried my preparations forward, for I feared rain,
and that the king might change his mind ; but the
weather continued dry, and in another week the
queen's workmen had finished the balloon and car.
All was ready, and I was to ascend on the following-
morning. I had had the balloon made of gigantic
proportions, and stipulated for being allowed to take
abundance of rugs and wrappings as protection

ESCAPE.

229

from the cold of the upper atmosphere, and also ten
or a dozen good sized bags of ballast.

I had nearly a quarter's pension in hand, and with
this I feed Arowhena's maid, and bribed one of the
queen's workmen — an excellent fellow — who would,
I believe, have given me assistance without a bribe.
He helped me to secrete food and wine in the bags of
ballast, and on the morning of my ascent he kept the
other workmen out of the way while I got Arowhena
into the car. She came with early dawn, muffled up,
and in her maid's dress. She was supposed to be
gone to an early performance at one of the musical
banks, and told me that she should not be missed till
breakfast, but that her absence must be then dis-
covered. I arranged the ballast about her so that it
should conceal her as she lay at the bottom of the car,
and covered her with wrappings. Although it still
wanted some hours of the time fixed for my ascent, I
could not trust myself one moment from the car, so I
got into it at once, and watched the gradual inflation
of the balloon. Luggage I had none, save the pro-
visions hidden in the ballast bags, the books of
mythology, and the treatises on the machines, with
my own manuscript diaries and translations.

I sat quietly, and awaited the hour fixed for my
departure — quiet outwardly, but inwardly I was in an
agony of suspense lest Arowhena's absence should be
discovered before the arrival of the king and queen,
who were to witness my ascent. They were not due
yet for another two hours, and during this time a hun-
dred things might happen, any one of which would
undo me.

At last the balloon was full ; the pipe which had

230 EREWHON.

I

filled it was removed, the escape of the gas having been
first carefully precluded. Nothing remained to hinder
the balloon from ascending but the hands and weight
of those who were holding on to it with ropes. I
strained my eyes for the coming of the king and
queen, but could see no sign of their approach. I
looked in the direction of Mr Nosnibor's house — there
was nothing to indicate disturbance, but it was not
yet breakfast time. The crowd began to gather ; they
were aware that I was under the displeasure of the
court, but I could detect no signs of my being un-
popular. On the contrary, I received many kindly
expressions of regard and encouragement, with good
wishes as to the result of my journey. I was speak-
ing to one gentleman of my acquaintance, and telling
him the substance of what I intended to do when I had
got into the presence of the air god (what he thought
of me I cannot guess, for I am sure that he did not
believe in the objective existence of the air god, nor
that I myself believed in it), when I became aware of
a small crowd of people running as fast as they could
from Mr Nosnibor's house towards the queen's work-
shops. For the moment my pulse ceased beating,
and then, knowing that the time had come when I
must either do or die, I called vehemently to those
who were holding the ropes (some thirty men) to let
go at once, and made gestures signifying danger, and
that there would be mischief if they held on longer.
A few obeyed ; the rest were too weak to hold on to
the ropes, and were forced to let them go. On this
the balloon bounded suddenly upwards, but my own
feeling was that the earth had dropped off from me,
and was sinking fast into the open space beneath.

ESCAPE.

231

This happened at the very moment that the atten-
tion of the crowd was divided, the one half paying
heed to the eager gestures of those coming from Mr
Nosnibor's house, and the other to the exclamations
from myself. A minute more and Arowhena would
doubtless have been discovered, but before that
minute was over, I was at such a height above the city
that nothing could harm me, and every second both
the town and the crowd became smaller and more
confused. In an incredibly short time, I could see
little but a vast wall of blue plains rising up against
me towards whichever side I looked.

At first, the balloon mounted vertically upwards,
but after about five minutes, when we had already at-
tained a very great elevation, I fancied that the objects
on the plain beneath began to move from under me. I
did not feel so much as a breath of wind, and could
not suppose that the balloon itself was travelling. I
was therefore wondering what this strange movement
of fixed objects could mean, when it struck me that
people in a balloon do not feel the wind inasmuch as
they travel with it and offer it no resistance. Then
I was happy in thinking that I must now have reached
the invariable trade wind of the upper air, and that I
should be very possibly wafted for hundreds or even
thousands of miles, far from Erewhon and the Ere-
whonians.

Already I had removed the wrappings and freed
Arowhena ; but I soon covered her up with them
again, for it was already very cold, and she was half
stupified with the strangeness of her position.

And now began a time, dream-like and delirious, of
which I do not suppose that I shall ever recover a

232

EREWHON.

distinct recollection. Some things I can recall— as
that we were ere long enveloped in vapour which,
froze upon my moustache and whiskers ; then comes
a memory of my sitting for hours and hours in a
thick fog, hearing no sound but my own breathing
and Arowhena's (for we hardly spoke, being too greatly
agitated for words) and seeing no sight but the car
beneath us and beside us and the dark balloon above.
I also call to mind a trivial circumstance which seems
hardly worth mentioning, but which has somehow or
other stuck by me, while many more important things
have faded away. . I mean that when we were in the
mist the last few bars of the first part of the minuet
in Saul kept running incessantly in my head ; to this
day they invariably recur to me when I find myself
in such a cloud or mist as recalls to me my voyage in
the balloon.

Perhaps the most painful feeling when the earth
was hidden was that the balloon was motionless,
though our only hope lay in our going forward with an
extreme of speed. From time to time through a rift
in the clouds I caught a glimpse of earth, and was
thankful to perceive that we must be flying forward
faster than in an express train ; but no sooner was
the rift closed than the old conviction of our berns:
stationary returned in. full force, and was not to be
reasoned with : there was another feeling also which
was nearly as bad; for as a child that fears it has
gone blind in a long tunnel if there is no light, so ere
the earth had been many minutes hidden, I became
half frightened lest I might not have broken away
from it clean and for ever. Now and again, I ate and
gave food to Arowhena, but by guess work as regards

ESCAPE.

233

time. Arowliena behaved like a heroine, giving
no trouble and doing everything I told her. Then
came darkness, a dreadful dreary time, without even
the moon to cheer us.

With dawn the scene was changed : the clouds were
gone and morning stars were shining; the rising of
the splendid sun remains still impressed upon me as
the most glorious that I have ever seen ; beneath us
there was an embossed chain of mountains with snow
fresh fallen upon them; but we were far above them;
we both of us felt our breathing seriously affected,
but I would not allow the balloon to descend a single
inch, not knowing for how long we might not need
all the buoyancy which we could command ; indeed I
was thankful to find that, after nearly four-and- twenty
hours, we were still at so great a height above the
earth.

In a couple of hours we had passed the ranges,
which must have been some hundred and fifty miles
across, and again I saw a tract of level plain extend-
ing far away to the horizon. I knew not where I was,
and dared not descend, lest I should waste the power
of the balloon, but I was half hopeful that I might be
above the country from which I had originally started.
I looked anxiously for any sign by which I could
recognise it, but could see nothing, and feared that I
might be above some distant part of Erewhon, or a
country inhabited by savages. "While I was still in
doubt, the balloon was again wrapped in clouds, and
we were left to blank space and to conjectures.

The weary time dragged on. How I longed for
my unhappy watch ! I felt as though not even time
was moving, so dumb and spell-bound were my sur-

234

ERE WHO N.

roundings. Sometimes I would feel my pulse, and
count its beats for half an hour together ; anything
to mark the time — to prove that it was there, and to
assure myself that I was within the blessed range of
its influence, and not gone adrift into the timelessness
of eternity.

I had been doing this for the twentieth or thirtieth
time, and had fallen into a light sleep : I dreamed
wildly of a journey in an express train, and of arriving
at a railway station where the air was full of the sound
of locomotive engines blowing-off steam with a hor-
rible and tremendous hissing ; I woke frightened and
uneasy, but the hissing and crashing noises pursued
me now that I was awake, and forced me to own that
they were real. What they were I knew not, but they
grew gradually fainter and fainter, and after a time
were lost. In a few hours the clouds broke, and I
saw beneath me that which made the chilled blood
run colder in my veins. I saw the sea, and nothing
but the sea ; in the main black, but flecked with white
heads of storm-tossed, angry waves. So it had come
to this !

Arowhena was sleeping quietly at the bottom of the
car, and as I looked at her sweet and saintly beauty,
I groaned, and cursed myself for the misery into which
I had brought her ; but there was nothing for it now.

I sat and waited for the worst, and presently I saw
signs as though that worst were soon to be at hand ;
the balloon had begun to sink. On first seeing the
sea I had been impressed with the idea that we must
have been falling ; but now there could be no mistake,
we were sinking, and that fast. I threw out a bag of
ballast, and for a time we rose again, but in the course

ESCAPE.

235

of a few hours the sinking recommenced, and I threw
out another bag.

Then the battle commenced in earnest. It lasted
all that afternoon and through the night until the fol-
lowing evening. I had seen never a sail nor a sign
of a sail, though I had half blinded myself with
straining my eyes incessantly in every direction ; we
had parted with everything but the clothes which we
had upon our backs ; food and water were gone, all
thrown out to the wheeling albatrosses, in order to save
us a few hours or even minutes from the sea. I did
not throw away the books till the last moment, and
clung to my manuscripts to the very last. Hope there
seemed none whatever — yet, strangely enough we were
neither of us utterly hopeless, and even at last when
the evil that we dreaded was upon us, and that which
we greatly feared had come, we sat in the car of the
balloon with the waters up to our middle, and still
smiled with a ghastly hopefulness to one another.

He who has crossed the St Gothard will remember
that below Andermatt there is one of those Alpine
gorges which reach the very utmost limits of the
sublime and terrible. The feelings of the traveller
have become more and more highly wrought at every
step, until at last the naked and overhanging preci-
pices seem to close above his head, as he crosses a
bridge hung in mid-air over a roaring waterfall, and
enters on the darkness of a tunnel, hewn out of the
rock.

What can be in store for him on emerging ? Surely
something even wilder and more desolate than that

236

EREWHON.

which he has seen already ; yet his imagination is
paralysed, and can suggest no fancy or vision of any-
thing to surpass the reality which he had just
witnessed. Awed and breathless he advances ; when
lo ! the light of the afternoon sun welcomes him as he
leaves the tunnel, and behold, a smiling valley — a
babbling brook, a village with tall belfries, and
meadows of brilliant green — these are the things
which greet him, and he smiles to himself as the
terror passes away and in another moment is for-
gotten.

So fared it now with ourselves. "We had been in
the water some two or three hours, and the night had
come upon us. We had said farewell for the
hundredth time, and had resigned ourselves to meet
the end ; indeed I was myself battling with a drowsi-
ness from which it was only too probable that I should
never wake ; when suddenly, Arowhena touched me
on the shoulder, and pointed to a light and to a dark
mass which was bearing right upon us. A cry for help
— loud and clear and shrill — broke forth from both
of us at once ; and in another five minutes we were
carried by kind and tender hands on to the deck of
an Italian vessel.

CHAPTER XXV.

CONCLUSION.

HPHE ship was the Principe Umberto bound from
J- Callao to Genoa ; she had carried a number of
emigrants to Rio, had gone thence to Callao, where
she had taken in a cargo of guano, and was now on
Jier way home. The captain was a certain Giovanni
Gianni, a native of Sestri; he has kindly allowed me
to refer to him in case the truth of my story should
be disputed ; but I grieve to say that I suffered him
to mislead himself in some important particulars. I
should add that when we were picked up we were a
thousand miles from land.

As soon as we were on board the captain began
questioning us about the siege of Paris, from which
city he had assumed that we must have come, notwith-
standing our immense distance from Europe. As may
be supposed, I had not heard a syllable about the war
between France and Germany, and was too ill to do
more than assent to all that he chose to put into
my mouth. My knowledge of Italian is very imper-
fect, and I gathered little from anything that he said;
but I was glad to conceal the true point of our de-
parture, and resolved to take any cue that he chose to
give me. The line that thus suggested itself was
that there had been ten or twelve others in the balloon,

EREWHON.

that I was an English Milord, and Arowhena a
Kussian Countess; that all the others had been
drowned, and that the despatches which we had carried
were lost. I came afterwards to learn that this story
wonld not have been credible, had not the captain been
for some weeks at sea, for I found that it was the
middle of March (I had lost all count of the months)
when we were picked up, and the G-ermans had
already long been masters of Paris. As it was, the
captain settled the whole story for me, and I was well
content.

In a few days we sighted an English vessel bound
from Melbourne to London with wool. At my earnest
request, in spite of stormy weather which rendered it
dangerous for a boat to take us from one ship to the
other, the captain consented to signal the English
vessel, and we were received on board, but we were
transferred with such difficulty that no communication
took place as to the manner of our being found. I
did indeed hear the Italian mate who was in charge of
the boat shout out something in French to the effect
that we had been picked up from a balloon, but the
noise of the wind was so great, and the captain under-
stood so little French that he caught nothing of the
truth, and it was assumed that we were two persons who
had been saved from shipwreck. When the captain
asked me in what ship I had been wrecked, I said that
a party of us had been carried out to sea in a pleasure-
boat by a strong current, and that Arowhena and I
(whom I described as a Peruvian lady) were alone
saved.

There were several passengers, whose goodness to-
wards us we can never repay. I grieve to think that

CONCLUSION.

239

they cannot fail to discover that we did not take them
fully into our confidence ; but had we told them all,
they would not have believed us, and I was deter-
mined that no one should hear of Erewhon, or have
the chance of getting there before me, as long as I
could prevent it. Indeed, the recollection of the
many falsehoods which I was then obliged to tell
would render my life miserable were I not sustained
by the consolations of my religion. Among the pas-
sengers there was a most estimable clergyman, by
whom Arowhena and I were married within a very
few days of our coming on board.

After a prosperous voyage of about two months, we
sighted the Land's End, and in another week we were
landed at London. A liberal subscription was made
for us on board the ship, so that we found ourselves
in no immediate difficulty about money. I accord-
ingly took Arowhena down into Somersetshire, where
my mother and sisters had resided when I last heard
of them. To my great sorrow I found that my mother
was dead, and that her death had been accelerated by
the report of my having been killed, which had been
brought to my employer's station by Chowbok. It
appeared that he must have waited for a few days to
see whether I returned, that he then considered it safe
to assume that I should never do so, and had accord-
ingly made up a story about my having fallen into a
whirlpool of seething waters while coming down the
gorge homeward. Search was made for my body, but
the rascal had chosen to drown me in a place where
there would be no chance of its ever being recovered.

My sisters were both married, but neither of their
husbands were rich. No one seemed overjoyed on my

240

ERE WE ON.

return; and I soon discovered that when a man's
relations have once mourned for him as dead, they
seldom like the prospect of having to mourn for him
a second time.

Accordingly I returned to London with my wife,
and through the assistance of an old friend supported
myself by writing good little stories for the magazines,
and for a tract society. I was well paid ; and I trust
that I may not be considered presumptuous in saying
that some of the most popular of the brochures which
are distributed in the streets, and which are to be found
in the waiting-rooms of the railway stations, have
proceeded from my pen. During the time that I could
spare, I arranged my notes and diary till they assumed
their present shape. There remains nothing for me to
add, save to unfold the scheme which I propose for the
conversion of Erewhon.

That scheme has only been quite recently decided
upon as the one which commends itself as most
feasible.

It will be seen at once that it would be madness for
me to go With ten or a dozen subordinate missionaries
by the same way as that which led me to discover
Erewhon. I should be imprisoned for typhus, besides
being handed over to the straighteners for having run
away with Arowhena : an even darker fate, to which I
dare hardl}*- again allude, would be reserved for my
devoted fellow-labourers. It is plain therefore that
some other way must be found for getting at the Ere-
whonians, and I am thankful to say that such another
way is not wanting. One of the rivers which descends
from the Snowy Mountains, and passes through
Erewhon, is known to be navigable for several hundred

r

CONCLUSION.

241

miles from its month. Its upper waters have never
yet been explored, but I feel little donbt that it will
be found possible to take a light gunboat (for we must
protect ourselves) to the outskirts of the Erewhonian
country.

I propose, therefore, that one of those associations
should be formed in which the risk of each of the
members is confined to the amount of his stake in the
concern. The first step would be to draw up a
prospectus. In this I would advise that no mention
should be made of the fact that the Erewhonians are
the lost tribes. The discovery is one of absorbing
interest to myself, but it is of a sentimental rather than
commercial value, arid business is business. The
capital to be raised should not be less than fifty thou-
sand pounds, and might be either in five or ten pound
shares as hereafter determined. This should be amply
sufficient for the expenses of an experimental voyage.
When the money had been subscribed, it would be our
duty to charter a steamer of some twelve or fourteen
hundred tons burden, and with accommodation for a
cargo of steerage passengers. She should carry two
or three guns in case of her being attacked by savages
at the mouth of the river. Boats of considerable size
should be also provided, and I think it would be
desirable that these also should carry two or three six-
pounders. The ship should be taken up the river as
far as was considered safe, and a picked party should
then ascend in the boats. The presence both of
Arowhena and myself would be necessary at this stage,
inasmuch as our knowledge of the language would
disarm suspicion, and facilitate negotiations.

We should begin by representing the advantages

Q

242

ERE W HON:

afforded to labour in the colony of Queensland, and
2?oint out to the Erewhonians that by emigrating
thither, they would be able to amass, each and all
of them, enormous fortunes — a fact which would be
easily provable by a reference to statistics. I have no
doubt that a very great number might be thus induced
to come back with us in the larger boats, and that we
could fill our vessel with emigrants in three or four
journeys. Should we be attacked, our course would
be even simpler, for the Erewhonians have no gun-
powder, and would be so surprised with its effects that
we should be able to capture as many as we chose ; in
this case we should feel able to engage them on more
advantageous terms, for they would be prisoners of war.
But even though we were to meet with no violence, I
doubt not that a cargo of seven or eight hundred Ere-
whonians could be induced, when they were once on
board the vessel, to sign an agreement which should
be mutually advantageous both to us and them.

We should then proceed to Queensland, and dispose
of our engagement with the Erewhonians to the sugar-
growers of that settlement, who are in great want of
labour ; it is believed that the money thus realised
would enable us to declare a handsome dividend, and
leave a considerable balance, which might be spent in
repeating our operations and bringing over other
cargoes of Erewhonians, with fresh consequent profits.
In fact we could go backwards and forwards as long
as there was a demand for labour in Queensland, or
indeed in any other Christian colony, for the supply
of Erewhonians would be unlimited, and they could be
packed closely and fed at a very reasonable cost.

It would be my duty and Arowhena's to see that

CONCLUSION.

243

our emigrants should be boarded and lodged in the
households of religious sugar-growers ; these persons
would give them the benefit of that instruction whereof
they stand so greatly in need. Each day, as soon as
they could be spared from their work in the planta-
tions, they would be assembled for praise, and be
thoroughly grounded in the Church Catechism, while
the whole of every Sabbath should be devoted to sing-
ing psalms and church-going. This must be insisted
upon, both in order to put a stop to any uneasy feel-
ing which might show itself either in Queensland or
in the mother country as to the means whereby the
Erewhonians had been obtained, and also because it
would give our own shareholders the comfort of re-
flecting that they were saving souls and filling their
own pockets at one and the same moment. By the
time the emigrants had got too old for work they
would have become thoroughly instructed in religion ;
they could then be shipped back to Erewhon and carry
the good seed with them.

I can see no hitch nor difficulty about the matter,
and trust that this book will sufficiently advertise the
scheme to insure the subscription of the necessary
capital ; as soon as this is forthcoming I will guaran-
tee that I convert the Erewhonians not only into good
Christians but into a source of considerable profit to
the shareholders.

I should add that I cannot claim the credit for
having originated the above scheme. I had been for
months at my wit's end, forming plan after plan for
the evangelisation of Erewhon, but meeting always
with insuperable difficulties, when by one of those
special interpositions which should be a sufficient

244 ERE WHO N.

answer to the sceptic, my eye was directed to the fol-
lowing paragraph in the Times newspaper, of one of
the first days in January 1872 : —

<£ Polynesians in Queensland— The Marquis of Normanby,
the new Governor of Queensland, has completed his inspection of
the northern districts of the colony. It is stated that at Mackay,
one of the best sugar-growing districts, his Excellency saw a good
deal of the Polynesians. In the course of a speech to those who
entertained him there the Marquis said : — ' I have been told that
the means by which Polynesians were obtained were not legiti-
mate, but I have failed to perceive this, in so far at least as
Queensland is concerned ; and, if one can judge by the counte-
nances and manners of the Polynesians, they experience no regret
at their position.' But his Excellency pointed out the advantage
of giving them religious instruction. It would tend to set at rest
an uneasy feeling which at present existed in the country to know
that they were inclined to retain the Polynesians, and teach them
religion."

I feel that comment is unnecessary, and will there-
fore conclude with one word of thanks to the reader
who may have had the patience to follow me through
my adventures without losing his temper ; but with
two for any who may write at once to the Secretary of
the Erewhon Evangelisation Company, Limited (at
the address which shall hereafter be advertised) , and
request to have his name put down as a shareholder.

P.S. I had just received and corrected the last
proof of the foregoing volume, and was walking down
the Strand from Temple Bar to Charing Cross, when
on passing Exeter Hall I saw a number of devout-
looking people crowding into the building with faces
full of interested and complacent anticipation. I
stopped, and saw an announcement that a missionary
meeting was to be held, further that the native mis-
sionary, the-Rev. William Habakkuk, from (the

CONCLUSION.

245

colony from which. I had started on my adventures),
would be introduced, and make a short address. After
some little difficulty I obtained admission, and heard
two or three speeches, which were prefatory to the in-
troduction of Mr Habakkuk. One of these struck me as
perhaps the most presumptuous that I had ever heard.
The speaker said that the races of whom Mr Habakkuk
was a specimen, were in all probability the lost ten
tribes of Israel. I dared not contradict him then,
but I felt angry and injured at hearing the speaker
jump to so preposterous a conclusion upon such in-
sufficient grounds. The discovery of the ten tribes was
mine, and mine only. I was still in the very height
of indignation, when there was a murmur of expectation
in the hall, and Mr Habakkuk was brought forward.
The reader may judge of my surprise at finding that
he was none other than my old friend Chowbok.

My jaw dropped, and my eyes almost started out of
my head with astonishment. The poor fellow was
dreadfully frightened, and the storm of applause
which greeted his introduction seemed only to add to
his confusion. I dare not trust myself to report his
speech — indeed I could hardly listen to it, for I was
nearly choked with trying to suppress my feelings. I
am sure that I caught the words " Adelaide, the
Queen Dowager," and I thought that I heard " Mary
Magdalene " shortly afterwards, but I had then to
leave the hall for fear of being turned out. While on
the staircase, I heard another burst of prolonged and
rapturous applause, so I suppose the audience were
satisfied.

The feelings that came uppermost in my mind were
hardly of a very solemn character, but I thought of

246

EREWHON.

my first acquaintance with Chowbok, of the scene in
the woolshed, of the innumerable lies he had told me,
of his repeated attempts upon the brandy, and of
many an incident which I have not thought it worth
while to dwell upon; and I could not but derive
some satisfaction from the hope that my own efforts
might have contributed to the change which had been
doubtless wrought upon him, and that the rite which
I had performed, however unprofessionally, on that
wild upland river-bed, had not been wholly without
effect. I trust that what I have written about him
in the earlier part of my book may not be libellous,
and that it may do him no harm with his employers.
He was then unregenerate. I must certainly find him
out and have a talk with him ; but before I shall have
time to do so these pages will be in the hands of the
public.

V

At the last moment I see a probability of a com-
plication which causes me much uneasiness. Please
subscribe quickly. Address to the Mansion-House,
care of the Lord Mayor, whom I will instruct to re-
ceive names and subscriptions for me until I can
organise a committee.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY
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